


together we'll ring in the new year

by snugglepup



Series: together we'll ring in the new year [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU In Which Feferi Has Become A Worse Moirail Than Eridan, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Technology, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Black Romance, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Crossdressing, Culture Shock, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gen, Gender Role Reversal, Gun Violence, Hair Brushing, Hate Sex, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutants, Mystery Character(s), Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Nooks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dave, POV Dirk Strider, POV Eridan Ampora, POV Jade Harley, POV Kanaya Maryam, POV Karkat Vantas, POV Meenah, POV Nepeta Leijon, POV Roxy Lalonde, POV Second Person, POV Sollux, Pain, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Regicide, Riots, Sex Toys, Sexual Dysfunction, Shame, Situational Humiliation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tentabulges, Trauma, Trolls on Earth, Vibrators, War, Xeno, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 98,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglepup/pseuds/snugglepup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GODDAMN do you hate this place, these weirdly-colored hornless people who move through the streets in overwhelming swarms with their constant suspicious glares, the endless disturbing roar of vehicles on the streets outside and in the sky, that hideous and malicious sun, but you don't hate any of it as much as you hate yourself for talking yourself into this mess to begin with.</p><p>That's you right there, Karkat motherfucking Vantas, eternal master of making astonishingly bad decisions that he can't do anything about but regret and then brood over endlessly, and you think you probably would have slit your own throat with one of your sickles long before the entire quarter of a sweep you've managed to stand being stranded here if not for the presence of the troll who's abruptly and gently knocking on your door.</p><p>[[A long fic with significant focus on Karkat and Kanaya in a universe where, after a brutal three month war ending with a sudden change in politics, the Alternian Empire attempts to repair species relations by sending volunteers to live in the Sol system.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue 1/6: Discontent and Dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is planned to be pretty long, with a lot of pairings (some of them common, others rare) that aren't tagged yet because they haven't come up in the story so far.  
> ! ! * The first chapter is angst-heavy, and while this is a dark story about broken people, it is _not_ entirely centered around Karkat being sad. * ! !

_why did i come? oh, why did i come here?_

_these humans all suck, i'd rather be home feeling violent and lonely_

_i'm not trying to sound so insincere but the postcard that's taped to the freezer reads_

_"wish you were here." how i wish i could disappear_

_i'm trying to find out if my words have any meaning_

_lackluster and full of contempt when it always ends the same_

[ _motion city soundtrack - together we'll ring in the new year_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcrD0xio4hE)

 

* * *

 

You lean back awkwardly against the 'headboard' of this human 'bed' thing that takes up practically half your little respiteblock and that you're permanently struggling with in one way or another. Sleeping place your ass, talk about a poor man's substitute for a recuperacoon, this piece of shit is pretty much just a big-ass couch with huge tucked-in fabric rectangles made out of cotton or woolbeast material or weird synthetic equivalents because that's somehow the only way these aliens can keep their bodies heated when they're unconscious. You've almost learned how to pass out by the first 'three o'clock', or fuck, is it the second? Whichever one means it's dark out, the point is you can usually manage to crash after taking a foul-tasting sopor tablet and lying down for miserable hours beginning at roughly twelve uh, man, what was it they call it again? These insane mammals use the same numbers twice in a row to keep track of time, they prefix one with the Sol-Common letters 'AM' which is a combination of sounds you can hardly wrap your tongue around let alone recall what the hell it actually means even though you're sure you learned it during the mind-obliteratingly complicated and boring Xeno-Cultural Lexical Inculcation courses you had to sit through after you committed to this whole disaster, and the other one's some different pair of human letters and noises and you'll be goddamned if you can remember which is which but the main issue is that one of them's night and the other one's fucking DAY and this whole piece of shit planet is expecting you to be up during the latter. GOD, what an actual daymare, you're never really going to get used to this even if you've recently managed to mostly shift your sleeping schedule into a realm of exhaustion, ocular torment, and utter misery. Shit, you're getting totally distracted now, even your internal monologue is full of run-on sentences and pointless tangents, this is not the time to be thinking bitter thoughts.

Your bulge is halfway back inside of you already, fucking hell, what is your goddamn problem these nights -- or, damn, these days, you guess, that's usually how they refer to their bizarrely fast orbital revolutions, the point is it's been over three 'weeks' since you've been able to get off and you thought you were actually finally making some progress here but no, your body is trying to change its fucking mind even though it's been OVER FIVE HUNDRED HOURS and that is, what even is the deal with that? Your insides are constantly aching and occasionally generating nasty painful throbs and piercing sensations like needles stuck inside of you thanks to the strain of recycling the same stale goddamn slurry in your gene sac for way too long and you can't get more than a few drops out of yourself at a time and no amount of wrestling with your thinkpan is enough for you to fathom how you were laughably shortsighted and stupid enough to sign on for this TWO SWEEP LONG Voluntary Mutual Cultural Affirmation Exchange Enlistment Program horseshit, and son of a bitch you're doing it again, this is what always happens, you try to take care of business and then your head is somewhere completely different and completely filled with helpless anger and self-loathing nostalgia. At least back home you could let sensation overwhelm thought once in a while, and in theory by the time you left you didn't even have to be afraid of being culled, or, well, you wouldn't have been culled by drones at least, just maybe ninety five percent of the other trolls on Alternia if they ever found out about you, but it was still such a bizarre and impossible relief that you barely knew how to deal with it, to process and hell even COPE with the way it changed such a fundamental aspect of your reality.

FUCK! You're doing it again right fucking now! You're letting yourself get distracted! Your dumbass piece of shit bulge is barely bothering to poke out any more and not even you are remotely stupid enough to try anything with your nook at this point because if you can't even get your damn bulge to stay unsheathed you really doubt there's enough lubrication in your internal auto-erogenous propagation orifice to get a single desperate finger in without it hurting like hell. That's it, that's enough, you have officially given up on 'Day' 22 of Project: Have an Orgasm and given up on feeling better during what you think is pretty close to the five hundred and twenty eighth consecutive hour without release, regardless of the fact that it's going to put you in even more constant pain when you wake up again, even though you actually for real, legitimately, biologically can't take much more of this without requiring medical administration. As if you even could get any of that on this blinding, hostile world, or at least any of it that's more complicated than wrapping some cloth real tight around a body part that's bleeding. For fuck's sake, they're barely medically advanced enough to cure CANCER, and that's how poorly they handle their own goddamn biology, there's no chance they'd know what to do with a species that's radically different in a hell of a lot of ways.

You guess there's a small iatrical annex at the embassy, but the whole edifice is still in the process of being repaired in the wake of a recent attack by anti-Alternian malefactors; you've gotta hand it to the culprits, though, because for such a small unit of squishy aliens lacking proper combat training they still coordinated their assault reasonably well and caused a hell of a lot of damage strafing the place with military-grade blitz rifles and following that up by launching incendiary cluster grenades through as many shattered windows as they could manage before human culling squads blocked off the streets and slaughtered all three of what disclosure telecasts and periodicals later referred to as 'segregationist radicals' after said radicals opened fire on their own species's regulatory organization with their remaining munitions. You wonder if they went into it knowing there was no way in hell they'd survive and as much as you're not exactly thrilled at the target they chose or their motives, you've got a whole lot of respect for anybody willing to take on a suicide mission. The more pressing issue is how about half of that goddamn iatrical annex burned so efficiently the damage almost looks like something an Alternian demolition squad could have done with similar equipment. Queues for any sort of medical care specific to troll biology are currently way too long, and anyway, you're not sure if you've got the caegars or the courage to go in there and try to get help for the problem you've got, or if they'd even help someone like you.

You slump forward, elbows digging into your thighs as you press your face into your palms and try your hardest not to cry. You cry anyway, of course, cry hard like you always do when something's fucking wrong, it's ridiculous and embarrassing even for a BOY to cry as much as you do and GODDAMN do you hate this place, these weirdly-colored hornless people who move through the streets in overwhelming swarms with their constant suspicious glares, the endless disturbing roar of vehicles on the streets outside and in the sky, that hideous and malicious sun, but you don't hate any of it as much as you hate yourself for talking yourself into this mess to begin with.

That's you right there, Karkat motherfucking Vantas, eternal master of making astonishingly bad decisions that he can't do anything about but regret and then brood over endlessly, and you think you probably would have slit your own throat with one of your sickles long before the entire quarter of a sweep you've managed to stand being stranded here if not for the presence of the troll who's abruptly and gently knocking on your door. You'd be worried it was that intolerable fucking human bulgelicker wanting something from you except he'd be pounding on your door hard enough to make it rattle and he'd be doing it to the rhythm of some shitty and grating alien excuse for instrument-accompanied slam poetry.

"Karkat, I can hear your distressingly sincere ululation quite clearly through the wall. Please let me in. I haven't bothered with the knob because I'm certain you've locked the door." Oh my god, why do humans make their walls so fucking thin when most of their hives are designed for multiple occupants? There's nothing you can do now, she isn't going to just let you NOT tell her what's wrong and she knows you way too well for you to bother trying to lie, directly or even just by omission. At least she has her Alternian To Sol-Common Automatic Translation Implant's outgoing converter set to dormant; the sound of another troll actually speaking your own language in her natural voice is a major reprieve from most of the unsettling conversations you've had lately.

You can feel your cheeks starting to heat up and you seriously want nothing more in this moment than to fucking disintegrate before she can see the bright red that you know must be practically glowing under your facial epidermis. It's not like she hasn't seen it before, it's not like she hasn't known for sweeps, but you don't think you'll ever be comfortable with anyone seeing evidence of your unnatural vital fluids, no matter who it is or how long you've been officially pale for each other.

"G-Give me one f-fucking second, god," you manage to say while trying to choke down sobs, and you quickly grab some pants off the cluttered textile covered floor and pull them on, still not distracted enough to avoid thinking about the constant, weird knowledge that this planet's dominant species would actually see them as masculine attire. Fucking aliens. You start to panic when you realize the ablution chamber in this stupid rental hive is across the hall, and then you look at your hands and remember you somehow managed to fuck up at masturbating so badly that there isn't so much as a speck of aberrant cherry-red slurry on them. You swallow hard and hold in another round of pathetic sounds of misery, feel the emotions catch somewhere in your thorax like inadequately chewed food getting stuck in your protein chute. With a weary, shaky sigh, you wander dizzily across your respiteblock, which seems a lot bigger all of a sudden, ignore the awkward sensation of countless fuzzy little fibers all weird and soft against the tough pads of your feet, and twist the weird little knob protrusion to unlock the door that she was, of course, completely right about.

The moment you see her worried face you're all twisted up with a gross mixture of reflexive comfort, instinctive guilt, and a small early spike of the crushing humiliation you're going to feel when she pries the truth out of you. You don't bother making her do her weird gender role bending politeness thing where she double-checks to see if she has permission to enter, you just turn around quickly before she can get a good look at your face and stumble back to sit down on the edge of the bed. A moment later she's seated next to you and you can feel her LOOKING and this is all just about too much to handle, no, it was already too much to handle, you don't even know what fucking phrase to use to sum up how you're feeling NOW.

"What's wrong?" she asks, and you're about to say something, you're not sure what, but a lance of pain jolts through your abdomen and gritting your teeth isn't enough to shrug off this one, it's worse than the others that've been plaguing you for the last hundred and fifty or so hours, a whole lot worse, your hands curl into fists and your claws bite into your palms hard enough to draw blood as you involuntarily clench your arms around yourself just above your sacroiliac joints. "Karkat, are you all right? I --" you cut her off by prying one arm loose somehow and raising your index finger and thank god but she respects that and waits while you curl up a little tighter and fail to hold in a supremely disgraceful keening howl.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This could all be over if your goddamn thinkpan and body would deign to work together the way they're supposed to. You're so ridiculously pent up that you should be fucking gushing after about a minute of touching yourself, if even that long, but somehow it just doesn't work. Fucking shit, this hurts so much you're honestly sort of scared your gene sac might have burst and if you'd bothered to learn the basic anatomy of your own goddamn body you'd know whether that was a real thing that happens or not. You are gonna be enraged beyond all comprehensible measure if you die on an unbearable alien world because you couldn't masturbate often enough. That is the most thoroughly undignified way to go out you can even fucking imagine.

"Fnglxlkxglghh," you somehow exhale in a way that almost vaguely resembles language. You were shooting for something more like actual words but it looks like that fucking plan didn't work out so well. Streams of transparent red are pouring from your anguish bladders entirely without your permission; you're not even actually crying any more, this is a level of excruciation that goes way beyond crying and into some other realm of unstoppable movements, sounds, and bodily functions. Somehow you force yourself to turn your head a bit; your moirail looks absolutely terrified, which is not something you have ever seen on her face before or really something anyone should be seeing on a female's face at all under pretty much any conceivable circumstance. She extends a hand all slowly and hesitantly, like she's afraid if she does anything that isn't offensively gentle she might break you somehow. You really wish you weren't just as afraid of that as she seems to be. "Be... okyy," somehow you're actually forming words this time, or, well, you sort of are, they're strained and hollow and whispery. "Give me... a m'nite."

"Oh, god, Dearest," she says quietly, and she doesn't break out that pet name very motherfucking often and that scares you even worse, "What happened to you?" Fuck humiliation, fuck everything, you'd tell her the whole idiotic story without a single qualm if you could just make your worthless squawk gaper cooperate again, but you can't, the signals refuse to travel from your thinkpan to the right axon bundles. Of all the goddamn times for Karkat Vantas to finally shut the fuck up this has to be the worst. Your life just never stops piling on more and more outrageous and unfavorably-timed indignities.

She runs her palm delicately down your red-stained left cheek and the combination of crippling agony and autogenetic amenity is so intense and confusing that you think maybe it might burn out your already Dersebound lobestem, but as her smooth gray skin slides across your own and the perfectly manicured ends of her claws ever so carefully trace lines across flesh that's soaked with freakish tears, the pain seems lessened somehow, or maybe she's just managing to help keep your mind off the worst of it, who gives a shit, anything, you'll give anything to make this be over, god, why did it get so bad so fast, how did this shit go from aggravating to seemingly fatal over the course of a couple minutes?

When she's almost down to the sharp line of your jaw she trails her clawtips back UP, which is, holy fucking shit, you'd never even thought of that as a thing that somebody could do, it's so pale you could practically just invent a whole new synonym for the magnitude and call it translucent, and when she's covered the area up to your temple she repeats the original motion, shooshing you pityingly while you whimper and try to figure out if the noise is coming from the insane soothing feelings flowing from your face into your thinkpan and down through every nerve in your body or the equally insane torment raging inside of you. You don't even know how much time passes like this, time doesn't mean anything any more, you exist in a universe devoid of the entire concept of time, you're pretty sure outright dying couldn't possibly hurt this much except maybe you ARE fucking dying and if so then this must be what it feels like but at least you have her, you're not alone, not even close.

And then there's an unthinkable miracle: the pain is fading away. Your quivering, steel-taut muscles loosen up and after a while, a long, anxious while, there's finally nothing left of the waking dayterror you just went through and you let out the longest and most relieved groan of your life, tertiary vocal chambers chittering uncontrollably from inside the same bonecage your bloodpusher is currently pummeling, and every single moving part of your body just gives up all at once as you slump hard into Kanaya's lap. With what feels like more mental and physical effort than you've applied to anything else in your life you manage to roll over so that you're turned in her direction, smooshing your face into her lower abdomen as you wrap your arms around it and hold on every bit as fucking tight as your devastated husk can manage.

"'m 'kay, 'm jsst... fuuuuuuuuck... less m'be make shrr that n'ver h'ppns agnn." Even through the totally inappropriately boyish skirt she's always dressed in, her lap is sopor-warm and beneath your own totally inappropriately girlish t-shirt your top two grossly widened ecdysial scars and another disgusting outline just below them all twitch involuntarily at the sensation, straining to flutter the opercula that have always been hopelessly fused all the way down past the deepest reaches of your reticular dermis. There's a mountain of shame in your sponge over your mutant blood but this, this NOBODY knows about, not even your fucking moirail because you will never as long as you live allow anyone to possess the knowledge that instead of just having normal, healthy, reasonable indentations, your thorax is desecrated by these apalling and inoperable half-grown gillslits. You don't take off your fucking shirt unless you've got no other choice and under that shirt you're permanently shielded by a thinner but equally opaque black camisole, and yeah, you try to act and dress as feminine as possible to keep up your 'I'm a tough guy don't mess with me if you wanna live' attitude but shit, if you're not wearing some sort of male undergarment then you're seriously at risk of exposing what is possibly the most heinous betrayal of genetic purity in the history of the entire fucking Alternian species.

You don't even realize you were starting to pass out until you're torn from the strange reverie of a world briefly free of ultimate suffering by a maddeningly familiar voice that you only understand because you hadn't bothered switching off your implant before you went to try  to wring an orgasm out of your worthless organs after what feels like a thousand consecutive dry runs. Inside your head and superimposed over the eerily smooth sound of a human speaking Sol-Common you can hear well-translated and probably slightly modified words that actually make sense and don't creep you out hardcore. Whoever's coding and updating these things must be serious fucking geniuses because while the audio output they send your thinkpan is obviously not identical to human accents it definitely takes them into account somehow and does a decent job of simulating analogous Alternian dialects.

"Yo, been hearin' some seriously fucked shit up in there, Vantas," your 'roommate' says, somewhat muffled through the door, "Somebody dyin' from a gutshot or somethin'? 'Cause it sounds like I oughta be dialin' for a goddamn ambulance right now." And this, this is the unquestionable nadir of your hopeless and wretched existence: you have failed so thoroughly at life that you have manufactured a situation in which the abominable human Dave Strider, a completely incomprehensible alien utterly lacking any perceivable form of empathy, is now concerned about your health.

You honestly would have preferred motherfucking oblivion over THAT.


	2. Prologue 2/6: All's Permissible In War and Pity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not okay with graphic violence and death, this would be a great time to stop reading.

_and i'm not the only one who thinks we're trying to say_

_to the heavens and all who hear us: behold what we have made!_

_we bring destruction, we bring war without an end_

_and then we live in hope that tomorrow never comes_

[ _vnv nation - testament_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVLzSrpIsFU)

 

* * *

 

**Location: Alternia. Estimated Sol-Common Date: 4/13/2054. Day one of the three-month Kuiper War. Colloquially referred to by Sol System natives as "first contact."**

* * *

 

 

"Seriously? We're starting another invasion already? How am I supposed to keep track of all this shit? I've got more goddamn periodical military telecasts to keep track of now than Serket had pupils. And that's not even hyperbole this time. OW! Motherfucker! What are you even doing back there?" He jerks his head away from the moderate viewscreen to which his attention was previously glued and shakes his head as though that might dissuade you from your work.

You roll your eyes patiently and run the detangling helve through his hair again. If it wasn't for the extensive experience you have with trying to fix the damage he causes to it via utter refusal to take care of it himself, you'd be astounded beyond all measure by how someone could possibly and consistently generate so many knots in hair as seemingly short as his. That 'seemingly' is the key, of course; you consider yourself privileged to be, as far as you know, one of two surviving trolls who've ever gotten close enough to the boy to have discovered that Karkat Vantas's frayed mane is usually somewhere several inches longer than it looks. You think the illusion is mostly the result of how unkempt it gets when you're not around, which is, sadly for his hair and the both of you in general, not very often. There's this fascinating phenomenon his unique brand of apathy produces where most of his hair ends up snarled tightly around itself close to his scalp and the rest gets stuck together in short spikes. You must admit the whole thing admirably mimics a typical female coiffure, and seeing as that's exactly the look he's going for you try to leave it alone as much as possible. The problem is that enough time tends to go by between each of your visits that leaving it alone when you're able to make the trip to his hive is not, in fact, something you consider possible.

"Hey, I asked you a question! The correct response would have been words, not spacing out to meditate on whatever dumbass fashionista shit you're always thinking about while you slowly assassinate my hair with that hateful fucking thing." He starts to twist his head and thorax around, presumably in an attempt to affix you with the legendary Vantas glare, and you grasp him by the shoulders and twist him back toward his viewscreen, tugging his head up straighter in the process. He growls and squirms in a weak display of resistance that you know he's only putting on to show his irritation.

"It was a rhetorical question. I didn't bother wasting time on an answer. How do you manage to inflict damage of this magnitude without doing it on purpose? Sometimes I find myself wondering how it's physically possible for hair to exist in the states you allow yours to occupy." He replies with an annoyed groan and then curses as you wrench the helve through a particularly resilient tangle. This is going to take even more effort to fix than usual, and that really is saying something.

"You know I fucking hate it when you force me to sit through this AGH GODDAMMIT agonizing and lengthy process, and for what? So I can get stuck with some delicate flowing princely bullshit that FUCKING GHHXKH means I can't even show my face on camera until your total violation of my personal style finally wears off? Tell me again why I tolerate this painful and meaningless waste of time because I sure as shit don't have a compelling answer and you're the one equipped with the goddamn vanity maintenance supply canister!"

Each sentence is coming out progressively louder and faster and you don't feel like sitting through one of his rants at the moment, so you take a few leisurely seconds to run a palm down one of his cheeks. He shudders and exhales slowly and it's impossible not to smile at his subtle but completely unmistakable chitter. When he begins to sway off to the left you pull him steady and backward, the two of you crosslegged on the floor of his hive, his head now pressing against your upper thorax and nestled beneath your chin. You wrap your arms around him and stay that way for a little while, feeling tension bleed out of him in waves until he's nearly limp in your earnest but more than a touch vainglorious embrace. You're quite sure he's closed his eyes and so you close your own, at least for a short time. As masculine as you may be, there's something particularly lovely about showing him this sort of pale affection. It's just nice, feeling yourself take on such a protective bearing and knowing that despite the fact that he's every bit as lethal and self-sufficient as any female, he'll allow himself a moment of weakness once in a while, allow himself these small reprieves from his nerve-wracking life of isolation.

"That is fucking cheating," he mumbles, utterly failing to keep pity from saturating his every temporarily fangless syllable, "you are... a filthy goddamn cheater." He was pleasantly cool to the touch at first, but after about half a minute, he's somehow become warmer than you. Like so many things relating to his casteless blood, his often fluctuating body temperature and the physiological triggers that control it remain a mystery. You've never spoken to him on this particular facet of the subject, though you know that he must know that you know by now, and you certainly also know that he must know that you know that he knows that you know. You simply know him too well, and he wouldn't be remotely pleased with any discourse on how sometimes his body feels like a lowblood's, others a highblood's, and once in a strangely comforting while, just like yours.

It crosses your mind that 'know' no longer resembles a word at to you all.

"All's permissible in war and pity, Karkat." You open your eyes and they happen to settle on his viewscreen, where infographics and multiple sets of subtitles relay various details pertaining to the new war effort he had been musing about earlier. He writhes away from you, seeming reluctant to sacrifice the moment as well as his obvious safety from the 'hateful fucking thing' you swiftly return to employing on him.

"Oh, fuck you. Huh, look, there's some more dirt on the invasion. In some spiral galaxy... seven point thirty six megaparsecs from here? I guess we've been out farther, but still. Do we really need to be invading another entire galaxy right now? Seems like spreading our forces pretty thin, but I guess I wouldn't fucking know. I'm not the goddamn Empress, I don't exactly have so many sweeps of experience as a leader and commander that nobody can even remember how long I've been alive any more." You're fortunate enough that his focus on the infographics has become rather intense, giving you the opportunity to redouble the current stage of your personal battle to restore a semblance of health to your moirail's hair. "Huh. Wow. One system with two inhabited planets, one inhabited dwarf planet, and and a whole two inhabited moons? Looks like we're in for the fight of our fucking lives here. This shit isn't even worth calling an invasion, it's more like crushing a pincerbug mound with the heel of your shoe." He flicks briefly to a few other feeds and then back to the original. "Welp. Guess there's fuckall else to watch right now. Time to see some backwards species get their first and last taste of what war's like out here in the real universe." It would probably worry you, the way he seems to be viewing this situation, but you know the difference between Callous Karkat and Bitter Karkat. You'd guess that in his head he's torn between boredom and a sad, helpless distaste for the brief genocide that's about to begin.

You finally manage to put an end to that really nasty tangle even though you couldn't do it without ripping out one impossible knot, but it's not like he's going to notice. He wouldn't care even if he did, and honestly, someone would have to go looking hard to find the missing bit. It takes a few more strokes top to bottom through the newly-rescued clawful of wavy strands to work the last resistant bits out, and now that he's calmed down and it's not painful, you can tell he's feeling the paleness of it too; he nuzzles ever so slightly against the bristles as they move from his scalp down the back of his head and then below. You wonder what it must feel like, to be attended to this way. If he was at all the typical male, you'd probably already know first-hand, but the thought of your moirail behaving in that manner is rather silly.

"Got mid-range scans going from the nearest fleet detachment, they're sending a carrier out to the dwarf planet's moon. Mostly terraformed, way the fuck out from that star though, I wonder how the natives are generating enough heat to make that thing even remotely inhabitable. Few major cities, well, I mean, major by the standards of a moon that's about the size of one of my goddamn horns..." That last bit you definitely don't care for. Self-deprecation is far from rare for him, but he gets touchy about his horns and if that's the metaphor he's gone with, he must not be feeling very good about himself tonight. You'll have to pry whatever's wrong out of him somehow, you suppose.  

Sometimes you wish things were different, that he WAS more the typical male, but then if he was, he wouldn't be your Karkat at all, would he? He wouldn't be your Dearest. You thought you'd die of embarrassment the first time you let that one slip out while he was in hearshot, that he'd mock you or worse be embarrassed by you, but he just stared, eyes locked with yours and filling with candy red tears, an expression blooming on his face you'd never seen before, the most feminine boy you'd ever known letting nearly every layer of his meticulously-forged armor fall away, and you saw that for the first time in the sweep and a half you'd been together back then, he really, truly believed that you pitied him for who he was and not for the color of his blood. He talked about things that night that he never had before, the overwhelming force of his hopelessness and exhaustion thundering outward like a barrage from a dreadnought's thousand cannons, wet eyes looking for all the world like they'd never be dry again. You had your first glimpse, then, of what it was really like to be Karkat Vantas, and when you realized that despite it all he still somehow pitied you too, really and truly, you felt as though you had only at that very moment become subject to the laws of gravity, as though you had spent your life a speck drifting through the great void between stars and against all odds and logic, you'd at last been found.

"Basic bio-scans showing a pretty small population overall, the carrier's sending a ship out for an orbital infantry drop, let's see what their scans come up with... oh. I guess that's the aliens, then. They look... an awful lot like us. Fuck. Not really sure how to feel about that. Weird skin, though, no horns or proper claws, technology still doesn't seem too advanced. They're all so... at ease. Where's the battle-readiness? Goddamn, the drop squad's gonna start a full on fucking massacre. Speaking of, there they go, gonna land in a little outlying settlement, population there's about fifty. Holy shit, none of them are even armed. This isn't war, this is just sick." You're not really listening too much to what he's saying, now; there's nothing to be done about any of it, and he's long gone, he's with the drop squad commander's live video feed, preparing to soak his thinkpan in blood that you'll spend the rest of your visit washing away the best you can.

He hardly notices that you're making good progress with the rest of his mess. In fact, you've underestimated yourself or maybe just lost track of time because there's not much brushing left to do now. You never really know how to feel when you finish with his hair; it has to be done once in a while or else it'll all just need to be cut and shaved off, but he hates the way he looks so much, and you wouldn't say you don't like it as much as you don't think he really seems himself without all of the spikes and tangles.

Really, the two of you are incredibly lucky to have found each other in the first place, virtually hatched for moirallegiance; the boy with a desperate need to act and dress like a girl and the girl with a heart forever insisting she dress and act like a boy, the perfect basis for mutual conciliatory pity between two half-secretly lonesome and terribly broken deviants. You --

"Hey," he says hoarsely. "You know I can't turn it off now. Don't make me watch this shit by myself." He sounds awful in a way you can't easily put into words. His secondary vocal chambers are doing something strange; you're fairly sure that there's a sound being made, but it's at such a high frequency that you can barely hear it, a faint, ominous whine that ought to make the air shimmer and bend.

"Karkat, I'd really rather not watch fifty non-combatants being mercilessly culled tonight. Are you quite sure this is what you want to be doing right now?" There's not much else to say. You can't allow him to put himself through this, not tonight, not when something else is already wrong and you don't know what it is. If he argues, you'll drag him away from that damned viewscreen, and if that doesn't work you'll hurl your detangling helve and smash it right then and there. He's cringing, shrinking into himself, and you hate this, you hate what he does to himself so, so much, you hate what it does to him and what it does to you, both directly and indirectly. And like the fool you are, your gaze catches and locks in on the commander's video feed, which now occupies the entirety of the viewscreen. Some moirail you are tonight.

The aliens are frozen for a short time when the pod bursts open and all fifteen soldiers pour out in a stream, various weapons already retrieved from their specibi. One of the soldiers sights down her rifle and fires, punching a large hole through an alien's head. You wince at the spray of brain matter and bone, and then realize all in one terrible rush that these aliens, their blood is red, it's candy red, it's red like your Dearest's, and what will it do to him to see forty nine more of these aliens, no, these PEOPLE for whom he's already feeling misplaced guilt, gunned down, cut down, crushed, all of it a rain of their innocent red blood. Karkat's blood, blood enough for him to drown in.

And then everything changes because half of the aliens have started running like both of you knew they would, but the other half do something completely unexpected. Their arms move to what appear to be very similar belts, and in small flashes of differently colored light, they are abruptly and impossibly armed.

"Oh my god," Karkat breathes. "They're using fucking strife specibi. This is the first time in recorded history that an alien race has had even remotely goddamned similar technology. That's... that can't be possible." You've scooted across the floor to sit next to him, wide-eyed and wrestling with feelings that conflict so intensely you're not prepared to deal with them at all. The aliens have their weapons ready, and now it's the drop squad, somehow, who've been caught off guard. The feed is shaky but high resolution and its HUD is zooming in on and attempting to classify armaments. You see two wielding swords, one with a pair of long hooked knives, but most of them are carrying either this species's equivalent to blitz rifles or larger and more complex guns that you can't identify. And then all at once, the aliens with ranged weapons open fire.

Trapped in the feed, you and your moirail huddle close to the viewscreen and watch as the drop squad, composed entirely of elite and battle-tested soldiers, is obliterated in no more than ten seconds, a veritable rainbow of once-vital fluids showering the surface of an unfathomably distant moon. Karkat's hand reaches out for yours and your fingers entwine, the both of you shaking, claws biting into each others' palms but the sharp pain is somehow reassuring and you're certain that he feels the same way.

You watch, together, as the feed's point of view jitters nauseatingly, then turns downward, providing video composed of several of the longest seconds of your entire life. Entry wounds beyond counting shatter the troll's thoractic armor plating entirely, and through her own eyes you see the commander's abdomen and thorax dissolve into a mass of spurting cerulean gore. The feed bounces out of control before settling with gut-wrenching calm in one spot, pointed upwards toward a black sky filled with strange and brilliant asterisms.

The stars are then blotted out by the figure of a tan-skinned alien in what absolutely must be civilian clothes. He or she or it, you can't say for certain although judging by similarities to Alternian body structure your best guess would be 'she,' she points what is unquestionably a sleek and well-cared for sidearm directly at the center of the feed, clawless digit strung through what can only be a trigger's guard. Her mouth moves and the gun steadies.

The viewscreen goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, the places fics go when you aren't paying attention.


	3. Prologue 3/6: Like Derse You Are

_oh, in the strangest dreams, walking by your side_

_it is the hole that you impose upon your life_

_when you're out, loneliness, it crawls up in the ground_

_it's what you feel, but can't articulate out loud_

[ _bastille - sleepslong_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLRDbNGfJ_A)

* * *

 

 

"Fuck off and die, bulgelicker," you rasp weakly through the door, because no. No, no, hell fucking no, he is not using his primitive comm unit to get goddamned human medical personnel rushing out here to discover they've been pulled away from somebody who actually deserves help so they can fail to attend to a sexually deviant alien mutant who may or may not be dying of inexplicable reproductive dysfunction. As if they'd help even if they knew how anyway, as if there aren't people with real problems out there, people who aren't aliens. One of the few really shockingly hopeful things about this venture was finding out you were going to be on a planet where there was an entire service dedicated to finding injured or dying people and goddamn helping them instead of finishing them off. You knew it wouldn't apply to you, but that wasn't the point. Now, though, it's not like any of that's changed, and you aren't exactly going to think less of some humans for wanting nothing to do with the species that tried to erase their fucking solar system just because the old Empress was bored, but wow, it kind of sucks a lot that they'd probably just laugh and eat popgrubs while watching you die. And just to hurl your racing thinkpan in yet another direction, man, that's still a weird thought there too, 'the old Empress,' it really and fucking truly never crossed your mind that she hadn't been essentially eternal. It's all just so... surreal. In some ways your daymare of a life's felt even more like a dream since the end of the war, and that was not a thing you'd previously considered possible.

"As much as I'm not quite certain that the situation in this block is either safe or stable I don't think that any human organization would be of use at this moment, Dave," Kanaya says loudly enough to pass cleanly through wood. She must have turned her implant on again because you aren't hearing the real Kanaya Maryam, YOUR Kanaya, you're hearing the warped and smoothed out Sol-Common-suited version of her voice that this fucking insane technology is somehow able to wring out of Alternian tongues and vocal chambers. Just like any E.E.P. troll using their wiring, she sounds almost like a weird human doppelganger of herself. Almost. "And as much as I am very worried about your health I don't think that it's appropriate for you to spit venom at a concerned hivemate right now, Karkat!"

Whoops, she's pissed. Not too pissed, though; she's low-tier Pissed Kanaya, the stage where she's stern and annoyed. Mid-tier Pissed Kanaya you really hope isn't anything you have to deal with again any time soon, and top-tier Pissed Kanaya, well... You've only seen that one twice and it scared the fucking shit out of you even though both times she was literally saving your life, or at least using that massive roaring linktooth rip-engine to shove your death onto somebody else she thought deserved to live less than you did. Man, you kind of really hate yourself tonight, don't you? Even more than usual. You're not even cursing that much, just sort of gliding along. Maybe it's got something to do with the knowledge that every single thing wrong in your current pathetic excuse for an existence, including your apparently pretty goddamned serious possible organ failure issue, is ultimately the result of a mountain of failures and bad decisions all of which were completely your own fault.

"Alright, ain't my funeral, hit me up if you need anything and if there's a fuckin corpse in there later I'm flash-steppin out the window and you can tell the cops I was out for a midnight stroll or whatever, slick motherfucker chillin spendin innocent hours leanin on a wall somewhere casually not checkin his phone, sunglasses at night, man, he could be starin at anybody, ladies double-checkin their makeup just on account of that unmistakeable Da-Stri aura, passin crossdressin aliens gettin ten kinds of confused, like, 'what's up with THAT pasty-ass DJ-lookin Dallas ninja and how come I got my mysterious freak-ass junk hella flippin out over him even though all my confusin as fuck boner-squares are full up already, who knows, the night's young and maybe fate's sayin it's time to get some quality human dick right up my -- '"

"Quiet, please," Kanaya says calmly. Your opercu... your scars twitch at the change in her tone even though it's not directed at you and welp, here's mid-tier Pissed Kanaya for you, fuckass, nice job shoving her past that goddamn threshold and good luck with the results. If the dipshit rambling desert-monkey's got anything like reasonable danger sense in his twisted lobestem he'll shut the hell up and do whatever she says to the letter and the spirit of it and fast.

"I humbly request that you temporarily remove yourself from the vicinity of this portal and pour your inane thought patterns into something more constructive, 'Da-Stri,'" she continues in a polite and utterly dispassionate tone of voice. "Perhaps one of your ongoing art projects? Or you might even rediscover an already explored method of relieving some tension and passing time by scrolling through another of the rather long and detailed anatomical essays on the 'mysterious freak-ass junk' my species posesses that I noticed sitting open on your husktop while you were in the culinary annex toasting your pop-tarts and freestyling rather poorly under your breath at forty two seconds past eleven thirty six AM yesterday morning."

There's a long silence.

"Damn, dude. Loud and clear. Yeah. Uh. Strider out." You don't hear him go, just like you never hear him come or go to or from anywhere, but you think it's a pretty safe bet he took the hint and went to mind his own fucking business. Now all you have to worry about is whether or not you're gonna need to shoosh your infuriated moriail before working up to telling her about the whole 'I might be dying because I can't pail myself any more for no reason' thing. What a goddamn joy this night's turning out to be. You hear something sharp rending something that isn't and twist your head a bit; she's dragging her claws across the bed hard enough to rip through the thick fabric coverings and leave jagged lines even in the actual fucking mattress. Her secondary vocal chambers are vibrating low and hard, the effect reminiscent of the bestial growl that comes a few seconds before a large woofbeast lunges and bites.

"Hey, whoa, shit," you say. You're finally getting more of your voice back. She doesn't seem to notice. This is not great. This is not good. Is she starting to lose her shit or is she trying to keep it under control? Is it both? "Hey! Fucking listen to me!" You try to say it loud enough to startle her but it looks like right now max volume is equal to roughly half the intensity of your normal speaking voice, whether or not the sentences in your head are ending with shoutpoles. It's so, so hard to move, but it's getting easier, and you manage to wrench an arm back from around her abdomen. You grab her by the brachium, another thing she somehow doesn't notice or at least doesn't react to, and have to take a moment to rest your limb there before clearing the last stage of its brief but totally goddamned hardcore journey.

Maybe it's not something most people would guess because she's the well-mannered textile enthusiast and you're the bitter, cursing firebrand, but your moirallegiance is actually pretty even when it comes to the ratio of who's pulling who out of violent rage fits. You just count yourself lucky the rip-engine hasn't come out yet. Now that the war's over it's technically way beyond illegal for anybody to own a strife specibus in multi-species zones, doubly so for trolls, but the reality is that most of the people who had them in the first place still have them now, either via smuggling them in or acquiring replacements through black market channels that are surprisingly easy to find considering the fact that human law enforcement agencies make such a big show of trying to root out the merchants and haul them off to spend their lives in ferrocrete dungeons. You sure as hell know everybody living in this rental hive has one, Kanaya with her terrifying goddamned machine, Strider with his weird curved sword that you've definitely noticed moving in ways that seem to break the laws of physics somehow, and you with your beloved sickles, as little use as they see these days or honestly as little use as they've seen since... well. Since the time between the end of the war and the day you left Alternia.

You don't think you're even very good at this but you cup the side of her face with your hand, damn, why are your hands so fucking small, there's another one of the billion things you hate about yourself, but anyway you need this shit to be settled right motherfucking now and you're really scared so you try to do the thing she did earlier that kicked your ass so hard and you drag the tips of your claws up her cheek. It's hard because you can just barely reach; your arms are kind of short and she's taller than you anyway. She goes completely stiff for an instant, quivers, and then as you phase out the claws and let gravity help ease the effort of carrying your fingerpads back down without breaking contact, you feel her calming down, muscles unclenching bit by bit. The ongoing damage to your bed slows and stops.

"Sssshhhhhh," you murmur, and at least this is something you don't have to be loud for, "shooosh, hey, it's okay," her shoulders slump, head bobs just a bit, and you gently taper off the papping thing before it goes farther than necessary. "Kanaya, hey, come back down, stay with me, he's just a dork, I don't know if he was even being a jerk on purpose, it's not a big deal." That's it for your physical abilities; your arm slaps down bouncily against the sheets. It'd be really fucking awesome if you could see her face right now but there's zero chance of that happening, you've gone back into energy conservation mode and you've got no goddamned idea when the next time you'll be able to move will be.

"Dearest," she says shakily, "of course, I... I'm sorry about your bed, I should not have..." and thank god, it worked out, hey, you accomplished something tonight, sort of, you were useful, you actually did something that wasn't utter shit.

"No, hey, chill, it's just some synthetic fabric, don't sweat it," you say, feeling numbly conflicted about your attitude. It's conciliatory in the basic and pale senses of the word, it's gentle, it's... it's the way a guy's supposed to sound, devoid of tension or anger, the voice of somebody vulnerable, because yeah, you have to be a fighter and a killer to be worth anything as a troll but it's the boys who're supposed to have these secretly kind and caring bloodpushers, these demeanors that attract the protective types. And that attract the predators.

Goddammit. This is not who you are. You are not all those other guys. You're not a girl either, as much as you act like one, you don't want to be a female and you never have, you just want to be fucking Karkat Vantas, that's all you've ever wanted, and Karkat Vantas should be yelling about this completely trivial thing because Karkat Vantas is always pissed off, is always angry, is always ready to fuck shit up. You want so badly to act like you're mad at her, like you want to murder Dave, like you care about the stupid meaningless bed, and yeah, you're pissed about various things at the moment and it feels like self-betrayal not to show it but you sucked it the hell up and did the right thing anyway, because for once this isn't fucking about you, it's about her, the only person who really cares, the only person who'd notice if you disappeared one day and never came back, and the last thing on any planet that'll do her any good in the state she's in is more anger. So fuck it, whatever, you kept the harsher thoughts inside, you'll be somebody else if somebody else is who she needs right now, because your own needs mean jack shit in this moment and even if they did, the reality is that what you yourself need in this moment is to be whatever it is that she needs. Speaking of her, she breathes in slowly and then slowly out again.

"Karkat," she says, and it makes your stomach turn over in self-disgust that she's resumed being as gentle with you as she knows how to be and she still doesn't sound as fucking boyish as you just did, "Something is clearly very wrong and I'm not going to accept any dancing around the subject, so please, make this easy on both of us and tell me what's going on." Here it comes. Nothing to be done about it. Well, at least you get to be frustrated and mad again.

"It's goddamned idiotic," you say, and she starts to say something but you cut her off because you know she thinks you were trying to wriggle your way out of answering but you weren't, "and also not a remotely fucking appropriate thing to discuss with my moirail, but okay." You inhale and wince. Could anything be more humiliating than this? Probably, but right now you can't think of even one example. "So I, uh, I... kinda can't... um." Gnaw the fucking projectile already, Vantas, just say it. So you do, and it all comes out in one awkward rush. "Okay it's not a long story I just haven't been able to get off in I think five hundred and twenty nine hours and my gene sac's been hurting worse and worse for the last hundred or so but I guess tonight it decided to step up the game. There. There you go fucking go. Goddamned happy?"

Another one of those long silences, except that this one isn't remotely satisfying.

"You could die," she says, stunned disbelief in her voice, which is at least better than anything indicating she's grossed out or thinks you're an idiot. "This is serious, there's only so long the same genetic material can be recycled. Why didn't you say something?"

"Would you have fucking said something if you were in my position? I thought I'd, I don't know, fucking fix it, it's not like I haven't been, uh, trying, you know? If I had any goddamn idea why this shit was happening I would've figured out a way put a stop to it by now." Why is this shit happening, anyway? Things were okay when you got here. You've been here a quarter of a sweep and nothing like this had happened until recently so... no. That's a load of shit. You're bullshitting yourself. It was harder to release every time, just slightly at first, then moreso and moreso until now, when it doesn't seem to be possible at all any more.

"The root cause will need to be found at some point," she says, "but there really isn't time for that right now. Karkat, do you understand that you could have been dead by now? Over five hundred hours? Most trolls would have died of cascading organ failure by four hundred."

"Oh." Your voice comes out squeaky and strained. There's not much else to say to THAT. Holy shit. Hooooooly shit. "No, I did not understand that. I would've said something a long fucking time ago if I'd known THAT."

"Would you have? Truly?" An indignant response is halfway to your lips before you stop to actually think about the question. It doesn't take long to find the answer.

"... No, probably not."

"Oh god," she says, sounding horribly defeated. "But why? Out of some sort of absurd fear of embarrassment? Because you convinced yourself it was 'inappropriate' to discuss such a thing with me?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it goddamned absurd! And yes, because of th..." and suddenly you realize you're about to lie, both to her and yourself. Because no, that's not really it at all, even if those two reasons were factors in the whole thing. "... I just... don't care any more, okay? I'm tired. I'm tired all the time, and I hate this planet more every single quote unquote day, and I hate these humans and I hate all of the bright light and I hate this hive and I hate Strider and I hate, I hate myself, I hate myself for coming here, I hate myself for... do I have to fucking spell it out for you? You've known me since we were four! You should know better than anybody why I hate myself and I still don't understand why you don't hate me too! I should've just stepped out the door back home and splashed some blood around outside my hive and let the drones take care of me. Or better, had the guts to cull myself and not waste Imperial resources."

She takes hold of your hand and squeezes it.

"No," steel in her voice now. "Absolutely not. You utter fucking idiot! How could you say something like that? How could you even think it? What have you ever done wrong?" You're about to say 'I hatched,' but before you get the chance she speaks again, something that makes your bloodpusher go cold. "What about... me?" Something hot and wet hits your face from above. It happens again, and then a third time. This is not what you wanted. This is not something you ever wanted. Shit, shit, SHIT. "What would I do without you? How could I live with myself knowing I'd failed my moirail so drastically that he let himself die?"

"Oh my god, come on, don't cry," you say, and she just strokes your cheek. Fuck, that's a lot to handle right now, one more pass and you'll probably be unconscious. "Get off my... face, that's... cheating. You deserve a better moirail, anyway. Somebody worth something." And you can't help it, you finish the thought out loud even though you shouldn't. "You deserve a moirail who isn't a fucking mutant."

Would you look at that. Three long silences in less than five minutes. That's gotta be some sort of goddamned record.

"No," she says. "I deserve the moirail I pity more than anyone. You, Karkat Vantas, you are that troll, do you understand? You're worth more than just 'something' and I don't care in the least about your stupid blood!"

"Well, sucks to be you, then, cause it sure looks like I'm on my way out," wow, you're such an asshole, even for you that was too much.

"Like Derse you are!" she growls. "We can talk about this later. We can worry about the whys later. For now, we're getting you out of immediate danger, whether you care about living or dying or not!"

"Yeah, and how're we gonna do that," you mumble. Your abdomen aches again, ever so slightly. Clock's ticking, you guess. If it gets half as bad as it did last time you're culling yourself right then and there no matter what anybody says.

"I don't know, but I know someone who might." You have absolutely no idea what that could mean until you hear her rustling in a skirt pocket and a series of beeping sounds that can only be the sound of a comm unit being calibrated.

"No, seriously, don't. There's nobody you can call who's gonna have the knowledge or the willingness to do anything." She ignores you completely. "Hey! Listen to me for a second! Who are you calling?"

"My matesprit," she says, and you go totally rigid with confusion and fear. WHAT. No. Anybody but that. You'd rather ask motherfucking Strider for help than interact with Kanaya's matesprit. There's a click as the person in question accepts the connection. "Blossom, I need your advice," Kanaya says, and just as she finishes the last syllable of her sentence someone's knuckles are rapping against the door and both of you gasp.

"Might I be so bold as to allow myself entrance?" Rose Lalonde asks, voice coming tinny through your moirail's comm unit and muffled through the door simultaneously. A few seconds pass with neither of you supplying an answer. "Well? I believe my advice has just been requested, and I'm uncertain as to how I am expected to dispense it properly with several inches of wood separating us."

"C-come in, yes, please," Kanaya says. The door opens, and the single most terrifying human you have the misfortune of knowing steps into your respiteblock. 


	4. Prologue 4/6: Paradigm Shift (At War's End)

_revolution from dissolution, hypnotizing and demoralizing_

_pressure of the future, too much for today_

_how many hours will i let slip away_

_before i realize existing and living are not the same_

[ _ms mr - fantasy_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DE5DXUfX0cc)

* * *

 

**Location: Alternia. Estimated Sol-Common Date: 7/19/2054. Final day of the three-month Kuiper War. Formally referred to by Alternians as "Ascension Night."**

 

* * *

 

grimAuxiliatrix  [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist  [CG]

GA: Karkat I Am On My Way Over

GA: Do Not Access Your Viewscreen Or Any Extranet Media And Stay In Your Hive

CG: WAIT, WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN.

GA: Please Dearest Just Trust Me For Once I Will Be There In An Hour Or So

CG: YOU LIVE LIKE THIRTY GODDAMN HOURS AWAY. WHAT'S GOING ON.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

CG: SHIT.

 

* * *

 

When you get to his hivering the looted windrider's busted engine is finally giving out, so you wrestle the last bit of control from the worthless thing and go for a controlled crash. You leap free just before impact but underestimate your momentum and end up slamming into the ground and rolling for several seconds as you hear the vehicle's impact send dirt and uprooted grass up and out in a massive shower. Not quite the graceful landing you'd hoped for. Your body is telling you that this would be a simply wonderful time to pass out, but that's not an option and you force yourself to sit up and then stand, head reeling, aches and abrasions everywhere. It's just as bad as you knew it would be; blood of various colors is splashed randomly on the ground, on fences, on the outer walls of dwelling places. Various sections of the horizon are suffused with orange glow, as though a number of small suns are beginning to rise. It's much too quiet here for comfort and as you stumble toward your moirail's door you realize that it's open, it's open and there's a trail of small indigo blood spatters along the grass leading up to the door and then passing over the threshold. No, no, no, please, it can't be too late, you can't have been too late, please.

Broken furniture is strewn across the bottom floor of the hive and there are head-sized holes knocked out of the walls in some places, but there's no blood yet, no red blood at least. A limp is slowing down your pace, slow and wavering like when you try to run in a daymere. Is that what this is? Oh, please, let this just be a bad dream. Maybe you fell asleep out of sopor somehow. You were certainly up long enough sewing. It wouldn't be the first time. Then you see the first few drops of mutant blood, hear a rough, unfamiliar voice, and you know that life could never be so kind as to allow something this awful to be fixed just by willing yourself to wake up.

"C'mon, bitch," somebody snarls, "Drones aren't gonna do their jobs somebody gotta do it for 'em, right? So just HOLD STILL!" There's a massive crashing sound and the floor actually shakes. You're trying so hard to move faster, why, why couldn't you have landed better, you should be running right now.

"Ff-fffuck you," a more familiar voice spits back, and oh god, that's him, he's not dead, not yet, maybe it's not too late, "You hold still, fuckass, can't you tell these sickles are getting goddamned thirsty, don't you wanna help out a li -- SHIT SHIT," a second later another terrible impact. The building creaks. "I'm gonna spill your motherfucking highblood guts all over my floor, you nookeaHHKGHXKJVKKH." The sharp noise of metal clanging to the floor. Swallowing acid, you force yourself not to think about what those last sounds might have been as you follow indigo and cherry-red stains around a corner and you're finally there because you see... oh, no.

A hulking female, clearly the owner of that indigo blood and she must be ten sweeps at least, almost old enough to go off-world, she has Karkat by the throat, holding him up off the ground with one hand. The other carries a truly enormous mace of some sort. There's something about the weapon that your thinkpan doesn't seem to be able to process. Something about the color.

"You're a boy, aren't ya, you little freak?" the female says with disgusted wonder. "Too bad I got no need for mutant slurry filthyin my bulge or I'd give you a taste of real troll before you die." As these sentences sink in deep, you see a long scrape on Karkat's cheek, steady drops of red falling from his chin to the floor, your eyes move to the mace and see specks of that same color on one of its flanges, that's it, that's what was wrong with the color, and all of these things together are too much, pain and muscle damage mean nothing any more, your legs move as though you weren't hurt at all. The female hurls your Dearest hard into a side wall when she hears the overlapping roars that erupt from your newly materialized rip-engine and your primary vocal chambers.

She barely turns in time to block your upward swing, and neither her size or caste strength are enough to keep her from taking a step back to steady herself as linkteeth chew a quarter of the way through her weapon. Then the surprise wears off and she gets her other hand back on the mace's grip and shoves, using it like a battering ram to make you backpedal a ludicrous distance, so far that you're almost pressed up against a wall before you manage to balance again. She doesn't seem to realize that the dreadful thing is now cut nearly halfway through. Bloodlust is practically glowing in her eyes but the thunderous rage in yours seems to startle her so you make use of the split second opening to slam your knee into her bone sheath, relishing the impact as she chokes and stumbles. There's not a moment to waste so you force your rip-engine forward. Almost there, almost --

Her fist digs into your stomach and you double over with a shocked cough. It would appear the reason you were regaining stability was because she had removed a hand for this purpose. As you struggle to uncurl your torso you see her winding up for a second punch that you know you won't you be dodging or getting back up from. So this is it, then. A single blow from a highblood's fist is all it takes to make this the night you die. You only hope the scum doesn't change her mind and rape Karkat before she kills him after all. As far as last wishes go, this one is really rather grim. Please let her finish him quickly. Please. You've failed as a fighter, a troll, a moirail, and now all you can do is hope by Skaia's light that he doesn't suffer for long.

The female's fist unclenches, loses momentum. She grunts in sudden pain.

"T-told you these pupas were thirsty, shitstain," Karkat says. He's on his knees with one arm outstretched, hand open, he must have thrown one of his sickles. Hearing his voice again changes everything somehow, your body is burning up from the inside out and you shove the rip-engine hard one last time and that terrible mace splits in half, linkteeth scoring a shallow cut across the blueblood's face. She curses, blinking her own blood from her eyes, but there's really no need for that because a second later you've brought your own perfectly whole weapon back around and you bury it in her shoulder and then her upper thorax. The female's brief but ear-splitting shriek of agony melts into meaningless gurgles as you continue to bear down and the rip-engine devours bone and lung and bloodpusher and more and finally exits through her lower abdomen on the other side of her body, which wastes no time in collapsing to the ground in two shredded halves. The hallway is a scene from a horrorterror film, bits of flesh sliding down the walls, blood dripping from the ceiling into the massive pool of blue surrounding dead flesh and torn innards. You struggle to catch your breath and lower your weapon as its belt slows and its roar fades away.

"Karkat," you gasp, "are you all right?" You take a step forward and then fall to your knees, barely keeping balanced by leaning on your deactivated rip-engine. Everything's gone out of focus and strange. A sucking sound as the blurry figure of your moirail tugs his sickle free of the assailant's corpse. He presses the end of one sickle's handle against the small bump under his shirt on side of his waist and the weapons dissolve into motes of light that flicker and then disappear. He kicks the female's corpse a few times to clear a path and settles down in front of you.

"It's okay," he says, and this is absurd, he's the one who nearly died, what is he saying? "Hey, I'm fine, you're fine, we did it." You realize that you're shaking, and when he hugs you tight, he's shaking too. "Now will you PLEASE tell me what in Derse's puckered asshole started this shitstorm?"

 

* * *

 

The two of you are upstairs, every entrance now barricaded with various pieces of broken wood, though there's little sound from outside apart from that of flames and faint screams from far off in the distance. Karkat sits and stares at the viewscreen, then twirls a clawtip in the air in front of it, initiating a swift rewind. This is perhaps the sixth time he's watched the short broadcast that threw all of Alternia into a frenzy of blood.

The screen is blurry at first, then focuses in on a black throne lined with gold, the throne that sits at the heart of the Battleship Condescension. A young troll sits there, no more than eight sweeps old. She's dressed in a loose black tank top with the Empress's own sign stitched carelessly into its chest, along with a rather ostentatious pair of blue, green, and pink shorts that are just short of knee-length. Too young to fit the grand furnishing, her legs swing carelessly back and forth in the open air beneath the throne. A pair of goggles with one cracked lens hangs from her neck and the very Imperial Tiara itself rests above her eyes, which are wide and bright with childish delight. Something long and gold glints at her side, rising from a floor that is not currently visible.

"HELLOOOOO~!" Her voice is almost boyish, sugary sweet, loud and bright through a grin that's smug and impressively fanged. "This is your new Empress glubbing to her adorabubble subjects for the very first time! I know what's swimming through your heads right now: 'How could this prawny little gill have krilled the old witch?' Having a little troubeel bereefing your ears, I figure! Whale, let's sea if you trust your eyes anemone better, then!" The video feed pans toward the golden something and downward to reveal the mangled body of an adult troll female in tattered royal regalia, sprawled gracelessly in a wide pool of unmistakeable, almost iridiscent fuchsia blood. The previous Empress's own 2x3dent is speared vertically through her back, pinning her corpse to the floor. The feed pans back up.

"Tuna bit more conchvinced?" She giggles and leans forward. "My name is Feferi Peixes, and from this night on, I will be your new ruler! Now let's get this ship sailing, shall we? I have three officieel announcements to make at this very moment, so listen close! One: all wars are hereby clamcelled! Every caegar the military budget can spare is now to be funneled into inking signatures on peace treaties, making reparations for the damage done in said wars, and developing technology to faceelitate quick and easy conchmunication with other species. Two: all Imperial Drones have been fished off of Alternia until they can be reprogrammed properly to fulfill porpoises other than culling, which is no longer a thing. Yes, you heard that right! From now on, there will be no more obsessive pursuit of meaningless 'genetic purity!' Conchsider the new Alternia a meritocrabcy bassed around positive reinforcement instead of negative. And three: in case any more of you little fishies get ideas aboat interfering with the suckerfishcession, let these few traitors serve as a demonstration of where that'll get you." The feed zooms out and farther to the side, where the door to a massive cage begins to open. At least two dozen enraged adult trolls stumble out in confusion, eyes slowly fixing on a mountain of weapons on the ground: blades, axes, hammers, anything designed to maim or kill. "COME ON NOW!", the young Empress shouts happily. "LET'S MAKO THIS A FAIR FIGHT, SHALL WE?" The adults waste little time in grabbing whatever armaments they can, and within ten seconds all are rushing toward the child who has seemingly done the impossible and slain the Condesce herself.

That child casually raises an arm in their direction and abruptly bright green light erupts from the alleged traitors' bodies, flowing from every orifice in a chorus of nightmarish screams. Terrible luminescense fills the air as they crumple en masse, a rainbow of blood slowly running together as it leaks from the dying trolls' eyes, noses, mouths, ears. Weapons fallen from suddenly nerveless fingers clatter to the ground. And then, with an eerie rushing whine, all of that light swirls across the room like glowing fog and spirals into the young Empress's open palm. The feed pans away from the bodies and centers again on the throne, where Feferi Peixes shines like a small green star for a few long seconds before the sinister light fades away.

"Still harboring any silly ideas aboat who's in charge? Or maybe you're eeling a little out of your depth?" She giggles again, this time more coldly. "Whale, that's all for now! Stay tuna'd for moray information as it's declassified!" She waves cheerily at whoever is holding the transmission device, and just like that, the broadcast ends.

Karkat sits in silence for a long time.

"What the fuck," he whispers. "What the fuck? What the fuck is this shit? Did that really just happen? This isn't a daymere, right? This is actual... this is real life?" You turn toward him and see that silent tears are running down his cheeks.

"Why are you crying?", you ask, careful to make sure your tone conveys that you're asking just to find an honest answer. He shakes his head.

"I don't even know." His body slowly goes lax as he lies down on the floor, staring up at his ceiling. "I have no goddamned idea." A few moments pass quietly as you wonder what to say, but he speaks again before you have the chance to decide, words that you hardly know what to do with. "I know her," he says quietly. "Peixes. Fe... Feferi. The, the new Empress, I guess. We're... we're friends. Or were. I'm not sure an Empress has time for friends."

"... What?" It's all you can think to say. All of this madness was unbelievable enough without your moirail revealing he was friends with the girl who just became the leader of countless billions of trolls.

"What I fucking said! I know her. We talk online sometimes, me and her and her moirail, this weird gaudy little fuckass princely bulgelicker. She's kind of creepy, but she always seemed basically nice. Nice enough for it to be kind of weird. Had a lot to say about the hemospectrum and culling being obsolete, about how we were wasting the Empire's potential on destruction when we could be using our resources to build and learn instead. She was the only other troll I ever met who typed in gray. Handle's cuttlefishCuller, I never really knew why she didn't hemotype, she was obviously a seadweller. God, I don't know. It never even crossed my mind she could've been the fucking heiress. I wonder where Ampora is now. Eridan. Eridan Ampora, I mean, her, her moirail, he's violet, same age as her and us. Went by caligulasAquarium."

"Why didn't any of this ever come up? You never talked about either of these people before, Karkat." You're not too shocked to be a little bit hurt that he was keeping this from you, although you suppose it doesn't really matter any more.

"Because I'm a dipshit and I was embarrassed to be friends with aristocrats. I don't know. I should've told you about them. Hell, you and Feferi would've probably gotten along great. Ampora maybe not so much, he's kind of a douche. He was always trying to hateflirt with me but he was so pathetic that after a while it wasn't even annoying any more so much as it was just kind of sad. Fuck. I didn't really mean to keep secrets, I'm just... kind of a dumbass fuckup, I guess, big shock." He's still crying, or at least his anguish bladders are leaking; you're not sure if this actually signifies sadness right now or not, and apparently neither does he. "What the fuck was that shit with the green light? What did she do to them? She killed like twenty goddamned adults in under a second. And that wasn't psionic power. We've known enough psionics for that to be obvious." You just slowly nod. "So then, all of this fighting, everybody going shithive maggots... It's because of her ascension?"

"It started with purists like the blueblood we killed. When the drones disappeared and that video was broadcast, riots broke out all over Alternia, trolls hunting for mutants and culling each other for any number of reasons. Before long there wasn't much real purpose to the fighting for most of them, I don't think. Just a lot of pointless anarchy and bloodshed perpetuating itself in one long, awful cascade." He doesn't say anything for a while.

"I wonder if she knew."

"Knew what?"

"What would happen when she pulled the drones out like that. She always was too much of a goddamned idealist to think anything all the way through."

"I don't know, Dearest," you say. You didn't know her, of course, but you had been wondering more or less the same thing. "This is the end of the Empire as we know it. Perhaps she did know, and thought it a price worth paying."

"Maybe," Karkat says. "She was so... weird, on the feed. I didn't think she was anything like that in real life. I never could've pictured her killing anybody, let alone the motherfucking Empress, let alone doing... whatever the hell it was she did to all those traitors. None of this shit makes any sense." You reach out for his hand and take it in yours, squeezing gently, and he squeezes weakly back.

"Perhaps it never will," you say, hating yourself for being so blunt. "Perhaps it's for the best that we don't understand." He's quiet again, and you can't really blame him. You sit by his prone form for minutes in silence.

"So what happens now?", he asks. You think that must be what every troll in the empire has to be wondering.

"We gather supplies," and this at least, you've already planned out, if loosely. "We prepare for battle, if necessary. We get away from this culltrap."

"To go where?", he asks bitterly.

"To my hive. There's no one else for leagues around. You'll be safe there." You wait for him to argue, to be contrary the way he is about everything. He slowly sits up.

"Then let's get a fucking move on," he says, and so that's exactly what you do.


	5. Prologue 5/6: 98.65413% (Good Vibrations)

_it's always empty in the house of every other_

_nothing waiting in the silence below_

_when all that you know has fallen behind you_

_it's not the past that you're afraid to see_

_there's nobody here and no one to find you_

_tonight is forever_

[ _the birthday massacre - midnight_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3gmoFTe_BQ)

* * *

 

"I gather your moirail here is not feeling terribly well at the moment?" Rose says, and coming from just about any other living creature in the universe, the airy and casual tone of her voice would be enraging and the immediate trigger for an insult or an insulting threat. From this creature, though, no. Hell no. Every single thing about the woman makes your epidermis fucking crawl; Kanaya's said she finds the human's voice and mannerisms to be pretty, beautiful even, but to your goddamned ears she's a calculated musical facade just barely cloaking the hunting keens of some bleak and razor-beaked angel spawned from the deepest reaches of Derse and only an idiot who wants his soul to be slowly devoured over a thousand sweeps would risk saying or doing a single thing that could possibly provoke her. You just know she's got a specibus and you don't have the slightest desire to find out what daymerish thing it could be hiding, and worse, you've always had the feeling that Rose Lalonde could probably kill somebody in ten different ways without even needing a fucking weapon.

"No, not in the least," Kanaya says. "Actually I am quite afraid for his life. I, I am not exactly sure how you arrived here before I finished my first sentence on a long-range comm unit, but I am rather glad that you did! And may I ask what is in that box that you're... y... oh. Blossom?" You really don't like the alarm that's suddenly jutting from your moirail's voice like a broken bone.

"Yes, darling?" That hideous sweetness again, god, fuck, why does she scare you so fucking bad? Are you just crazy? Or does she remind you of somebody else? There's just something about that smug, self-assuredness that comes across unlike any other smug self-assured nookeater's. You can't figure it out and it drives you shithive fucking maggots every time you have the dire misfortune of enduring her presence in your hive when she comes over to engage in maddeningly loud and occasionally disturbingly quiet repeat pailing sessions with your moirail on the other side of a wall that might as well be paper thin, or just to exchange barbs with her fuckass... what even is that word? It starts with a Sol-Common 'b' you think, anyway, that stupid Strider asshole who's like her sideways ancestor or something, another concept that makes your thinkpan twist itself into baffled knots, especially because there's supposed to be some kind of inexplicable taboo about romance between humans who've got really similar genetics or whatever and in your opinion if the conversations they have were any blacker they'd be making glowbulbs explode in their sockets with every sentence.

"Why did you bring THAT box with you?" What is that in her voice now, other than alarm? Is that... embarrassment? Oh, you really don't want to know where the fuck this is going. Oh god. This just can't possibly go anywhere positive.

"You desired advice regarding your moirail's problem. I thought I ought to skip that pointless stage of the proceedings and simply bring a temporary solution." If you weren't already paralyzed with weakness you think this would be one of those paralyzing moments of surprise and bafflement.

"Yes, but... are you quite sure..."

"I am quite sure, darling. Now, I am terribly sorry to postpone further possibilities presented by tonight's brief reunion, but I don't think that either you or this poor boy will want to be within earshot of each other for a short while."

"Quite," your moirail squeaks. "Karkat, I am sorry but I must take my leave of your respiteblock for the moment!" She sounds like she's in a hurry, too. Some fucking moirail she's being right now. Maybe she's trying to get the hell away from the block before its walls are painted with your blood.

"W...what? No, no, don't do that, please, don't leave me alone, don't leave me alone with... just don't go, please," and you hate the high panic in your voice, fuck, but the last things on Alter... on Earth, hah, ugh, that you want right now are for Kanaya to be anywhere but holding you, and TO BE LEFT ALONE WITH ROSE MOTHERFUCKING LALONDE. Fuck everything else, anything but that.

"I'm sorry, Dearest," she says, and briefly, gently runs her fingerpads across your cheek one last time before fucking abandoning you to be eaten alive by this eldritch beast. "You'll understand in, ah, in a minute or two." You're gently lifted up, goddamn it all, why are you so easy to grab and womanhandle and move around, you'd drown a wriggler right now to have some bulk on your shitty body. Okay, wow, no, that's gross even for you, but still. Kanaya leaves you helplessly propped against pillows which are themselves propped against the headboard. At least you'll be halfway comfortable while Lalonde feasts on your fucking soul. And before you have the chance to really say anything else, your moirail's on the other side of a closed door and the daymere is real. Rose climbs onto the bed and kneels in front of you, uncomfortably close, smoothing out a long black skirt. Apart from that she's wearing an offensively bright orange hoodie emblazoned with what's maybe a stylized sun, unzipped over a black t-shirt with a stylized skull of some sort where a troll's sign would be, although the design is warped somewhat by the round swell of her weird female equivalent to thoractic mounds.

A few small needles manifest in your gene sac and you gasp and stifle an involuntary whimper. Rose's previous airy air vanishes swiftly to be replaced by narrowed brows and a gaze like cavalreapers' lances penetrating the deepest reaches of your mind.

"You hear that, Mr. Vantas?", she murmurs as she slowly leans closer toward your face. The fear you're feeling has to be plastered across your face and you can't even muster the dignity to be ashamed. "That is the sound of inevitability. It is the sound of your death." She pauses as the words sink in. Your gut is churning in more places than you'd ever imagined possible. "At least, it could be. That all depends upon the decisions you make tonight. And I do hope that you make the right ones."

"What the fuck does that mean?" You're scared of even goddamned cursing around her but you can't help it and hell if you're dying anyway then whatever. Whatever. You're so Dersishly fucking sick of fear, any sort of fear. She withdraws somewhat, and speaks a bit louder, which is actually kind of a relief.

"Why, Mr. Vantas? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for pity? Illusions, Mr. Vantas. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble Alternian intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose." All emotion has vanished from her face, and it sure as shit sounds like this is the moment the facade falls away and the monster she's hiding inside of herself starts breaking loose. Your mouth is slightly open. You have literally no goddamned idea what to say.

The tension of the moment's broken by a choking sound and then an intensely irritating, unrestrained burst of laughter from the other side of the door.

"Fucking hell, Rose," Strider says; the fuck is he doing out there? "Dude's got enough shit on his plate without you scarin the livin shit outta his sorry ass QUOTING THE FUCKIN MATRIX AT HIM," and he dissolves again into hysterical mirth. Lalonde's face twitches. She bites her lip and then actually smiles, and it's... genuine? Is that fucking possible? Her chest and abdomen jerk in and out as her vocal chambers emit a quiet and intermittent chuffing that you slowly realize is her attempt at suppressing human amusement projections.

"David Evelyn Strider," she says sternly and with enough volume to make you wince, "I don't recall anyone granting you permission to park your sad, voyeuristic ass outside of this bedroom. Important things are happening here. Information of significant value is being exchanged."

"It's a movie, dude," Dave says, "She's quoting a fuckin sixty year old sci-fi flick. What's the issue, Rose? Hangin with Egbert much lately?"

"Shoo!" she says, "And that's an order, young man!"

"Alright, alright," Strider chuckles, and then all trace of his presence is gone, although with that wastechute sniffer who knows whether it actually means he left.

"I apologize, Karkat," Lalonde says with more normal volume. "I couldn't help myself. I am a rather sadistic creature at times."

"You were fucking with me?" You basically cannot believe what you're hearing. "What the fuck is your problem? I'm literally dying over here and you're messing with my goddamned head quoting shitty ancient human movies?"

"I suppose that is a rather blunt summary of the situation, yes," she grins. "All right, Vantas. I'll be serious. You might have wondered how I knew beforehand that Kanaya would call my cell phone? Long enough beforehand to arrive at your bedroom door before she could finish her greeting?" You shrug, completely torn between furious indignation and this bizarre nauseating relief.

"You're a psionic," you say, because what else would make any sense?

"Not quite, but close," Rose replies. "You see, a psionic has limits to her reserves of power; she may burn herself out if said power is overused. I possess no such limitations." The image of a young troll, a flood of lethal green light, and dozens of adults dying in screams that still haunt your daymeres flashes through the front of your thinkpan and suddenly you're scared again. "Fortune is my domain. Chance. Probability, causality. To be more specific, probabilities relating to the pursuit of favorable outcomes for myself and my allies."

"And you think I'm your ally?" Shit, you wish you'd worded that better. What if she thinks that was a jab, or a statement that you're not? You don't have any idea what the fuck she is to you but you sure as hell don't want her to be your enemy. Screwing with your thinkpan or not, she's still making your bloodpusher try to smash your bonecage into splinters, and not in a good way.

"Well, now," she says. "That remains to be seen. However, my matesprit is most certainly my ally, and it would appear that the death of her moirail of thirteen years would not contribute to anything resembling a favorable path for either her or myself. If I recall the moment of divination correctly, and worry not, I absolutely do, the potential event of your death tonight, which, should you ignore my advice and aid possesses a probability of precisely one hundred percent, will begin a causal cascade ending in both Kanaya Maryam's death and my own in approximately ninety eight point six five four one three percent of all possible localized futures."

That was sure a hell of a sentence. You're still trying to process it, especially the parts about how you're supposedly gonna die TONIGHT and get Rose and much more importantly Kanaya killed if you don't do whatever it is she thinks you should do, when she continues and you drop the whole death-related train of thought to pay attention.

"Therefore, and to spare as much awkwardness as possible I shall attempt to avoid vulgar nomenclature, it is absolutely necessary that we find a way for you to... shall we say, 'relieve' your condition. To that end I present you -- for this night only, mind you, you'll have to find a permanent solution on your own, I'm afraid -- with this." And she shoves the purple box on the bed over so that you can reach it. You're still pretty fucking annihilated but to your surprise you can actually fucking move again. Maybe it's the massive epinephrine rush that's still saturating your bloodstream.

You open the box to reveal... a bunch of weird shit? It's a lot of variously colored devices that you can't even remotely goddamned guess the function of at first. Except maybe for one or two that are shaped kind of vaguely like... oh. Oh. Okay. Wow. Welp. That's what they're for, then. She was right after all, you're so goddamned glad Kanaya's not here right now to see the specific variety of searing blush that's erupting on your face like two cherry volcanoes that you can't even put it into fucking words, not even in your own head. You look back up at Lalonde and are literally amazed to see that as much as her self-confident expression tries to hide it, her own cheeks are tinged more than slightly pink.

"As you've surely observed by now there are, ah, a few options," she says, and that stumble in her words engages a massive surge of satisfaction that you barely manage to keep off of your face. The glorious sound of Rose Lalonde failing to construct a perfect sentence. For a few seconds, the world is fucking beautiful. "But considering the urgency of your situation and the specifics of Alternian anatomy I would recommend perhaps this one!" You've never actually heard her speaking quickly and the implications both distract from your own extreme embarrassment and boost what you are now visualizing as a sort of wonderful invisible meter labeled 'The Current Amount of Dignity That the Confirmed Smug Nooksniffer Known As Rose Lalonde Has Permanently Sacrificed.'

She points to this kind of medium-length, shiny, silvery cylindrical thing. "There are probably more than a few ways you might make use of it as opposed to the more limited utility of most of the other items in this container, but really it is up to you. It is your life on the line, after all. Well, I suppose it is three lives on the line, but as you would be the catalyst for the other two potentially hideous and agonizing deaths, it falls on you to make the choice."

"I'll... just go with that thing you think is a good idea, then," you say. "I can't even imagine what most of this fucking stuff is actually intended for." You hesitantly pluck the cylinder from the box while Lalonde carefully fascinates herself with the impressively boring white paint on the walls of your respitebock.

"Excellent, well, good luck and... enjoy yourself, I suppose!" And with that, the woman who five minutes ago had been the second most terrifying living thing you had ever encountered and is currently extremely creepy and mysterious but possibly not a soul-devouring Dersite daymere after all swiftly removes herself from the bed and slips out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

You sit there for a long while, not really sure how to proceed or exactly what this thing you've got in your hands does. It occurs to you that whatever the answer is it's probably done it to the human girl and your moirail both and wow does that ever fucking kill the already nonexistent mood, so you force those thoughts out of your thinkpan as fast as trollishly possible and... shit, what are you gonna do? This is definitely the second weirdest and scariest night of your life. But now, sitting here with the knowledge that you are literally going to be dead before morning comes if you don't do this thing, hating yourself suddenly isn't enough to make you apathetic about your continued existence. You shrug pointlessly at the empty respiteblock and laboriously remove your pants.

You're expecting your bone sheath to be clamped shut hard, but it's actually not, somehow. Apparently no matter what your thinkpan says, your lobestem and erogenous zones want to know just what the fuck is up with this alien object. It can't hurt to try to get started as soon as possible so you lower your free hand and hesitantly run your fingers along the thin ridges of cartilage that are already ever so slightly parted of their own accord and shiver. Okay. That's... that's a good sign, so you press a little more firmly, pointlessly stifle a small gasp, then begin to repeat the motion, up and down, slowly applying more and more pressure with your fingerpads as you examine the silvery thing more closely.

It's a pretty simple device, whatever it's for: smooth-surfaced and strangely, contradictorily dryly slick, cool to the touch and not quite metallic, you wonder what it's made of. The shiny majority of the cylinder ends in a smooth rounded surface, and the other end of the thing is black, with a rough texture that turns out to be, fuck, okay, the shit your other hand's doing is definitely getting you somewhere, you can feel your sheath being pushed slowly open from the inside and yes, good, that's what you're going for here, function and not failure, anyway, the black part consists of a ton of rough, shallow indentations that are maybe there to provide something easier to grip than the rest of it. Who the fuck knows.

You notice that the oh god, yep, okay, that's definitely the first inch or so of your bulge that's feeling the ambient stimulation of cool air, you notice that this smaller black part moves a bit when you mess with it, maybe it's supposed to be twisted for some reason? Your fangs are carefully working your lower lip, it's way too early to break any skin but this whole event is becoming so... intriguingly weird, attractively foreign, your bulge is working its way out more and more and oh shit, you're pretty much focused on this somehow, there isn't room in your thinkpan for bitter distraction. Four inches out, so that's good, that's progress, and you're afraid to even try but you stop stroking your bone sheath for a bit in the hopes that maybe you can be done with that part and so you carefully, carefully drag one fingerpad along an inch or two of your bulge.

It's wet.

You can actually do this. Oh my god. You twist the black part of the thing from Lalonde's box and WHOA OKAY WHAT SHIT HOLY FUCK it starts goddamned vibrating and you almost drop it out of shock, then force yourself to chill the fuck out, wow, what is even your problem, and you look down, sure you're going to see your bulge sliding back in because you just got yourself startled like a dipshit, but what you see instead is the other ten inches of it unsheathing over about two seconds and what you feel is a dizzying shudder of pleasure running through the sinuous length of the whole thing and up through your abdomen, not to mention your nook twitching and squeezing against its own inner surfaces. Apparently those parts of you have a better idea of what the fuck is going on with this device than your thinkpan does. You wrap your fingers around the base of your bulge and squeeze gently, and when a small amount of slurry dribbles out of its tip you could almost fucking cry with relief. Maybe you're not gonna die after all. Your bulge wriggles in the sweet coolness of the block's atmosphere, and suddenly you think you have a completely goddamned bizarre and insane idea of what to do with this thing that's slowly making the hand you're holding it with go numb. You lower it slowly and okay, maybe a little bit fearfully toward your bulge and when it makes contact

you let out a silent scream because fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck what the fuck since when has anything had the right to feel half as good as this feels, the vibration passing through sensitive tissue and actually feeling like it's stimulating the inside of your bulge somehow, and then said bulge, sensing something solid to interact with, slithers and wraps around the thing several times and oh that's fucking it, your fangs slide through a few layers of lip dermis, releasing the sweetly metallic taste of blood against your tongue as the rest of you pretty much just goes completely goddamned motherfucking crazy with feeling, you didn't even know something could feel this good, you don't think you've even read smut in which anything was described as feeling as good as this feels, you're moaning as quietly as you can which is not as quietly as you'd like and without even thinking about doing it you've suddenly worked two fingers into your nook which is apparently now functioning again because, well, you're two fingers deep in it and that kind of proves the point, your claws are retracted and you're flexing your joints inside of yourself and it feels so good, it feels so fucking good, what the fucking motherfucking bulgelicking fuck, and speaking of bulges again that particular organ is completely slick and desperately coiling and uncoiling around this crazy mechanical orgasm-wand and your fingerpads are deep enough to rub against your seedflap which is okay maybe kind of weird and definitely something you're not sure is healthy in general but fuck it you've been doing it your whole life so whatever and the noises coming out of you are harder and harder to suppress, the alternation between gasps and low moans and little squeals that you don't remotely have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by, all while your secondary vocal chamber sends out a whine that you hope isn't actually piercing the air as intensely as it's piercing your aural canals and your tertiary chambers are chittering so hard you sound like a chirpbug during its mating season and you can't even feel bad about the way your opercula thrash and strain helplessly below your small thoractic mounds because this is all so much, it's almost too much, no, it's definitely too goddamned much but it's too much in the best possible way and

everything is white-hot through your whole body like every nerve is bursting into a tiny sun and genetic material is spurting from the tip of your bulge all fucking over the place and wow you really should have gotten a fucking pail for this but would that even have done any good and your nook just violently contracts and shoves your fingers out as your seedflap releases and five hundred and something hours worth of pent-up slurry pours out in a steady stream and the whole thing probably only takes about fifteen or twenty seconds, maybe not even that, but it feels like fucking MINUTES, and then your bulge is retracting like it's scared of something and you yank the suddenly way too intense silver thing away and desperately try to catch your breath and not think about how you pretty much just screamed full-force until your expanding and contracting oxygen processing organs emptied and then refilled and then emptied again but more slowly in one long, long, achingly loud moan and there's no way all three of the other people in the hive didn't hear it so clearly they might as well have been in the block with you, and you collapse back into the pillows and smack your head against the headboard but who fucking gives a shit, and you know that later on as little as that last thing matters you are definitely going to give a shit about all the ridiculous noise and also the way your bed is soaked down to the mattress so completely that your slurry's actually puddled on top of the sheets and that puddle is so enormous it looks like it must be fake, but right now what matters is that apparently simple alien inventions are all that's necessary to achieve levels of release that seriously exceed anything anybody ever even hinted could be possible and you can tell just by the feeling inside of you and also the difference in how much your abdomen protrudes under your bonecage that your gene sac is beautifully, mercifully empty.

Well, you're definitely not dying tonight, that's for sure, and the knowledge is so much more comforting than you even thought it might be that you don't notice you've passed out until there's a knock on the door and Rose Lalonde's seriously fucking uncharacteristically awkward voice drags you out of what might actually be the first useful bit of rest you've gotten since you left Alternia.

"Ahem, ah. Karkat? I really, honestly do hate to be a buzzkill, but it's three thirty AM now, which is roughly two hours since, ah, well, the point is that I would rather appreciate it if I could have my box back so that David here can drive me home in the hopes that I might scrape up at least a few hours of sleep before my morning classes begin."

So that whole hideous painful organ failure thing worked out okay, yeah, but now that you think about it, maybe you should just go ahead and cull yourself real quick after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys with toys.
> 
> There wasn't really a place for it in this chapter, but it is definitely unstated AU canon that Rose spent a full ten minutes standing outside Karkat's respiteblock with her cell on vibrate waiting for it to go off while Dave sat on the couch rolling his eyes every thirty seconds thinking "Goddammit, Rose, why are you always doin this shit, fuckin showoff"


	6. Prologue 6/6: Staying Alive Is Saying Goodbye

_the first chapters of lives almost made us give up altogether_

_pushed towards tired forms of self-immolation that seemed so original_

_i must, we must never stop watching the sky with our hands in our pockets_

_stop peering in windows when we know doors are shut_

[ _the weakerthans - sounds familiar_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-u9KqcakXM0)

* * *

 

When you finally arrive at your hive after a series of extremely dangerous and exciting escapades which you have no desire to waste time remembering in detail, you try to get through the desert in one night using the latest in a series of at least four looted vehicles, the last three of which having been destroyed in said escapades. Unfortunately, its +bow-punctured fuel tank runs out three quarters of the way there and it is most certainly not either a dim or dark season right now. You don't particularly want to see Karkat blinded and severely burned, or to explain quite yet that neither of those things seem to happen to you when exposed to direct sunlight. You trudge through sand, Karkat more miserably and crabbily, and somehow manage to make it just as the first hints of morning light begin to show.

"That's it? What the fuck? This thing isn't a hive, it's a goddamned shiny pimple on the face of this hideous fucking desert. Speaking of which, what the fuck is wrong with you, living in the middle of an actual desert? God, we flew most of the way here and my legs still feel like they got used for punching bags after that last league. Holy shit, it's almost morning. You obviously don't have any vehicles here, how the hell have you been traveling all the way to MY hive all this time?"

"I did not wish to live somewhere I might constantly be bothered by others. Karkat, please, I am rather tired myself. Can we postpone the bitter inquiries until a more convenient time? And I would prefer you not refer to the shimmering alabaster beauty of my hive as a 'festering pimple' on the face of anything."

"Hey, my adjective of choice was 'shiny'. You're the one who went and added an extra dose of Vantas truth-shedding to that one. How do you even live in this thing, it's like, one fucking block!"

You sigh and rub at your temples with the thumb and fingerpads of one hand. Sometimes this boy's near-perpetual infuration causes him to miss rather obvious facts. He'll just have to see for himself. Your primary vocal cords are aching just from responding to his almost constant stream of angry and nervous babble. You have no idea how on Alternia he's even kept his voice at all, considering that he seems to say four words for every one of yours. Perhaps he just has more practice; perhaps when no one is around he's talking to himself incessantly. It would explain a lot. You fail to surpress a small giggle at the mental image.

"The fuck are you laughing at?"

"You, of course." He breathes in deep, presumably to groan loudly or unleash another tirade, then seems to choke on lingering grits of sand and spends a few moments coughing instead. You circle your hive, and when Karkat doesn't see a door on what he perceives to be a simple white dome and asks whether or not you use your rip-engine to get into your own hive and then repair the damage every time you get inside, you sigh and rap gently on a certain section of its surface seven times and a roughly door-sized section detaches, slides inward and then to the side. A second later, a similar process occurs in a few elevated spots around the dome, revealing windows. You turn to him and raise an eyebrow. He opens his mouth, then closes it again and rolls his eyes.

"Seven times? Is it really smart to make the entry code to your own fucking hive an unlucky number? The unluckiest number possible, even?"

"I thought you weren't superstitious," you reply a bit smugly. That smugness does not survive the next thing he says.

"Yeah, well, things change a little bit when you watch somebody your age murder over twenty adults in under a second." You don't have the energy or desire to say anything further on the subject, and if you tried to be polite and offer him entrance first he would unquestionably assume it had something to do with your respective genders and transform into a cyclone of imaginative expletives, so you just step inside and let him follow on his own time. You're struck by the fact that this really is home, you actually made it back, which was honestly not something you were expecting despite your resolve. In the absence of intense hardship said resolve ceases to fuel you and you collapse onto the closest pillow on your floor.

"Oh my god, it's like a precipitation-arc ate a bunch of differently dyed species of cotton candy and then projectile-vomited fucking everywhere. Ugh. I don't know what else I expected considering who occupies this retina-scorching hellhive. Even the thousand feet or so around this place is all green and goddamned grassy. There's no escaping it."

"I suppose you will simply have to learn to live with the unbearable horror of this Hatecraftian thing that mortal minds have inadequately labeled 'color'." It feels so unbelievably good to be here again, even though you were only gone for perhaps sixty hours. The longest sixty hours of your life. "Have you noticed the stairs yet?"

"The wh... oh god damn it." When he turns back from the stairs leading down to to the bulk of your hive you just shrug and smile, and when he glares back you just smile a bit wider. He wanders down and disappears for a while. You mostly spend the time resting and applying saliva to various minor abrasions and half-closed lacerations. Finally he returns. "Okay, I'll give you this much: other than the uncontrollable spurting bulge-thrash you've got for applying garish hues to almost everything you own, you did at least manage to put together a decent hive. The underground thing makes sense considering the idiotic geological placement of the structure. Where the hell is your lusus, though? I kept waiting to get pounced on by god knows what kind of abomination, but there was nothing down there but regular furnishings and a terrifying array of textile products." There's no point in being sentimental about this or in delaying the inevitable, so you answer plainly and honestly.

"She's dead." The way his face falls causes a sort of mild phantom pain somewhere in your thorax. You didn't think it would affect him so severely to find out.

"How long?" Of course he had to ask. If only he hadn't. It will only make him feel worse.

"Three sweeps, give or take a few perigees." There's no hint of irritation left in his demeanor. He looks more like he's just been punched right in the abdomen. "Why are you so upset? These things happen. Your lusus is no longer among the living either."

"Yeah, but... I... I don't know. Seaborn lusii usually have shorter lifespans, I knew it was coming. You've just been alone here this whole time?" You shrug again and wonder if he's going to ask how it happened, but apparently even he has more tact than that. You repay it through maintaining your own respect for him by continuing to avoid the subject of why he had a seaborn lusus to begin with. "God DAMN it." He sighs briefly and then his eyes settle on some object you can't see from where you're sitting and looks like something concerning and important has just occurred to him. "Wait, wait. How the fuck are we going to try to cohabitate in a hive with only one recuperacoon?" The thought had already crossed your mind, naturally.

"I suppose we'll have to share it," you say, trying to keep any hint of anxiety out of your voice. "It is large enough. If that's... an arrangement that you would consider acceptable." He stares at you for a while as you worry that the two of you aren't nearly pale enough for something like this. Well, really, you're worried that he isn't pale enough for you to do it. You don't think you would mind at all.

"I, I guess." He looks at the floor, and then at you. "Is that... you'd really be okay with that? I mean, if you're okay with that... but..."

"Yes," you say as authoritatively as possible without being creepy, if that's even possible. "I am more than okay with that." Karkat probably thinks that his actions have no tells, but they do and you can tell that he's fighting back tears.

"Oh. Wow. Uh. Yeah, me, me too. I've only got, like, one spare set of clothes, though." You have no idea how that's relevant until you make the connection that he isn't comfortable taking off his clothes around you. It's true that he's never been shirtless around you, which isn't exactly surprising considering his gender, but you still find yourself somewhat hurt considering the nature of your relationship, as well as suddenly somewhat afraid that there may be some flushed feelings hiding in his half of your diamond. He must see the look on your face because his cheeks quickly go red. "No, oh my god, it's not... any of the things you're probably thinking, shit. I just, I can't be naked, okay? It has nothing to do with you."

"Then I suppose I will be sewing you some new clothes," you say, and he groans for at least three full seconds. It's not like you'll be forcing him to wear anything that isn't his usual drab colors, although perhaps you can improve a bit on the general design of the outfit he's usually seen in... "However, I would prefer not to subject any of my own fine apparel to immersion in a vat of slime. Would it be too strange, then, if I continued the usual practice of sleeping unclothed?"

"No, I guess not. I mean, I'm sure it'll be kind of weird at first, but that'd only make sense, right? I'll get used to it." You're relieved at this further confirmation that he's firmly and strictly pale for you but you can't help being concerned about the fact that he has some apparently compelling reason to keep most of his body hidden even from his moirail. Well, there's nothing to be done about it, you're certainly not going to ask him anything about it, and you know he'll silently appreciate it when you don't.

"It's almost dawn," you say, and then you fuck up, probably because of how tired you are. "While that isn't such an issue for me, I suspect you would prefer to be asleep before light begins to stream in through my windows."

"Yeah, no shit I -- what?" Your eyes widen as you realize what you just said. "What do you mean it's not an issue for you?" Now it's your turn to look awkwardly at the floor.

"The sun," you say quietly. "It's never affected me. I see perfectly fine in daylight, and I suffer no burning or other ill effects." He opens his mouth, closes it. A few seconds later he opens it again.

"You're a mutant," he says, and coming from anyone else on the planet that sentence would cut like a knife. Instead, it's the next sentence, quiet and wounded, that's like a blade shoved through your bloodpusher. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry," is all you can say, because you know what he's thinking, how much less alone he might have felt all of this time if he knew.

"Whatever. Just... I'm barely fucking conscious as it is. Let's go to sleep, Miss Sunshine."

He only sort of half-watches when you undress, and it isn't like you're not somewhat embarrassed too, but there's not really anything to see considering you aren't exactly expecting to be sexually aroused any time soon, especially not in the same block as your moirail. When the two of you are settled in your recuperacoon something you had forgotten about from a few perigees ago randomly loops back around to your conscious mind. You're sleepy enough to ask about it.

"I don't know why this occurred to me, but the night the war started... I doubt you would still remember, but I could tell there was something bothering you more than usual. What was it?" He's silent for a while and you wonder if he's already passed out.

"I do remember," he says. "I'll remember it for the rest of my life." This is really not at all what you expected to hear. "That evening before you woke up, I talked to... to Feferi. We started arguing. It wasn't like I disagreed with her philosophy, mostly, but I was getting sick of hearing her talk like some kind of activist when her life apparently consisted of pretending she wasn't an aristocrat for no reason and hanging out with her shithead moirail, so of course I decided to be an asshole, and after she logged out I felt really shitty about it. That was the last time I ever talked to her, actually. In retrospect it's obvious why."

"What'd you say to her?" you mumble. You hope he answers quickly, because you think you have about twenty seconds of consciousness left in you. Your arms are wrapped around each other and without thinking about it you squeeze a bit tighter. Right now, even through the undergarment he insisted on wearing after you finally convinced him to at least take off his t-shirt, he's noticeably warmer than the sopor surrounding you, and the intimacy as well as the temperature feels wonderful. He's silent for a moment before he answers quietly enough that if his chin wasn't nestled atop your shoulder, you might not hear him at all.

"I said, 'If you care so goddamned much, why don't you fucking do something about it?"

 

* * *

 

**Location: Alternia. Estimated Sol-Common Date: 10/26/2058. Departure date of the third wave of transport ships ferrying new E.E.P volunteers to the Sol System.**

 

* * *

 

"I'll only ask one more time," you say as the two of you wait in the queue leading up to a small enlistment and identification testing structure. "Are you sure this is what you want?" If so, then you suppose you're lucky; you only arrived just in time to make it onto the last ship.

"Yeah," he says. "It's been two fucking sweeps, Kanaya. We're ten. This planet's still breaking out into chaos every couple of perigees, I'm still a mutant and even if the drones don't care any more, most of the rest of the world would still kill me in a second if they knew and had the chance. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of fucking Alternia. I don't think I'll survive much more of this. I mean, emotionally, I guess."

"But going off-world... to a planet full of aliens, most of whom will probably hate us anyway..." He just looks at you. You know that look all too well. He's made his decision and he has no intention of turning back.

"What about you, though? Why the fuck do you want to do this? You've got way less to gain from it than I do." You wonder how to respond. There are a number of reasons, really, more than he might guess. The queue moves forward a few steps.

"I suppose I'm sick of it all too. Trolls like us don't belong here, not really. Perhaps in a few more sweeps, when... if the Empress continues to hold her throne, things will be different, but in some ways things are worse here than they were before. Besides, I've heard that humans are quite a bit more fashion-minded than Alternians." The last part is honestly less of a joke than you meant it to be, which probably makes you an absurd person, but such is life. You don't mention that even if none of those things mattered to you, you would be doing this simply because Karkat is, because now, after so much time actually living together, the idea of your Dearest being on a completely different planet, being in a different GALAXY, for at least two whole sweeps if not longer is completely unbearable. "You've said your goodbyes?"

"Yeah," he says, doing the thing that he does where he tries to sound as though something doesn't bother him by masking his feelings with a facade of apathy that might fool someone else, but never you, no matter how much effort he puts into it. "Sollux sounded like I was punching him in the face. Nepeta actually cried, can you believe that? Talk about surreal. Serket called me a cowardly bitch and said she hopes someone'll catch it on video when the humans inevitably murder me. I didn't even bother saying anything to Equius. I'm sure Nepeta's told him already and he apparently didn't have anything to say or he would've messaged me by now. Gamzee and Tavros, well, you know. They sort of beat us to the program by three perigees. I wonder where they ended up. Probably too much to hope it's the same planet we get assigned to." It doesn't slip by you that he didn't say anything about Terezi at all. "How about you?"

"Yes, I have. Vriska pretended she didn't care. Aradia was... well, she was Aradia. She said something strange about 'hoping we would cross paths again in this timeline.' I don't have the slightest idea what that last part meant, but at least she was kind, I suppose."

"What about Sollux and Nepeta?" Again, as though Terezi doesn't exist at all. Whatever happened there, it must not have been pretty, and you're certainly not going to bring her up if he isn't, at least not here and now.

"Ah, yes. Sollux sounded like I was also punching him in the face. Nepeta did not cry, but she was rather sad. I, ah, I did not speak with Equius either. Oh. I suppose... this is it, isn't it." You hadn't realized it, but the two of you have been moving with the queue throughout your conversation, and it's your turn. You decide to be bold; it will work better than usual, seeing as you and Karkat are both unhappily dressed in 'appropriate' garb for your respective genders; you thought it wise to minimize the chances of tension or awkwardness, and as unhappy as it made him, Karkat couldn't really argue. You approach the large troll standing guard at the door. "Excuse me," you say to her, hoping that this will work, "Is it permissible for my friend and I to enter together?" If she says no, you'll mention that it might save time.

"Like I give a shit," she says, and when you don't move immediately, she rolls her eyes and gestures toward the door. "Come on, keep the fuckin' queue moving already." You nod and when you enter the building, Karkat follows.

Inside there's a single male troll leaning with his chin and cheek pressed into one palm and his elbow propped against a counter that is equipped with a small data entry station. Off to the side there's a cabinet emblazoned with a violet medical supply insignia, next to which is a chair, a small and unidentifiable machine, and a hazardous waste disposal canister. You approach the counter. The troll looks exceptionally bored as he hands you a single sheet of paper and a cylindrical ink dispenser.

"Fill this out for me real quick, if you don't mind, and then we'll take a blood sample for confirmation and record-keeping purposes," he says, and your mind is blank with terror as you write down your name, gender, age, and the macro-coordinates of your hive. Of course they're taking a blood sample. It doesn't matter to you, but what about Karkat? You pass the sheet back to the male troll and he types at a rate that suggests lots of practice, then ushers you over to the chair, where he restricts bloodflow to your right arm with a viscoelastic polymer band, removes a small syringe from the medical cabinet, and slips the needle into a vein. You wince slightly as the syringe fills with jade. He presses a small adhesive strip with a smaller circular pad of some absorbent material over the small wound, removes the band, injects your blood into a small tube, inserts the tube into the machine and taps a claw idly against its side as it processes. There's a small ping and he studies a small viewscreen briefly. "Yep," he says, "all checks out. Kanaya Maryam, ten sweeps, etcetera. If you came in together I'm guessing you'll want to wait until this guy's done before moving on?" You nod, get up, and move aside.

You watch, gut churning, as Karkat fills out his form and shakily sits down to go through the same thing. When the syringe fills with bright red, the male running the station draws in a sharp breath. You can't see his face but you can see your moirail glaring up at him, a mask of defiance over what you know is the shame he still can't let go of. Possibly to his credit, the male doesn't say anything at first, just covers the entry wound and processes the sample. He studies the machine for a while, presses a few buttons.

"According to this sample, Mr. Vantas, you don't exist," he says.

"What the fuck does that mean? I'm pretty goddamned sure I'm sitting right here having my fucking dermis, vital fluids, dignity, and privacy pointlessly violated and screened." He's angry in exactly the way that signifies he's terrified, and while it's probably impossible for you to be as afraid as he is right now, the same word certainly applies to your own emotional state.

"It means one or more of three things: one, you were somehow never sampled and interviewed by a census drone, which is rare but possible, two, there's an error in the system, unlikely but also possible, or three, the most likely option, because of your, ah, particular mutation, the population database had no idea what to do with you and either failed to process or somebody sympathetic found and deleted your entry to prevent immediate culling."

"Okay, that's great and all, what the fuck ever, the point is am I getting on this goddamned ship or not?" A low vibration is starting to fill the room, obviously coming from Karkat. You also notice, just barely, a strange sort of exceptionally high-pitched keening sound; whatever it is, it doesn't quite hurt your audio receptors, but it's slightly uncomfortable nonetheless. The other troll shrinks away slightly and is obviously starting to get nervous. You suddenly notice his hand straying slowly to his waist; a natural reaction, but not an option whatsoever.

"If you are foolish enough to attempt to retrieve whatever is stored in your specibus," you say, and both your moirail and the technician or whatever it is his title might be turn toward you, looking surprised, "It is highly likely that my moirail will disembowel you or slit your throat long before you will be able to operate your weapon. If by some freak chance this does not occur, I will be forced to retrieve my own, and this encounter will needlessly end with your body cut in half and gore in whatever color is appropriate soaking every wall of this structure. I don't know what you have stored in there or what color your blood is, but both Karkat and I have killed trolls far higher on the spectrum than jade." The technician's eyes widen. He looks from you to Karkat, whose hand is now also at his waist, and he withdraws to a more neutral pose.

"Okay, okay," he says, "Wow. Let's just calm down, here. Nobody needs to get hurt. Look, we all know the new laws. Mr. Vantas here could have three heads and six arms and there still wouldn't be any culling being ordered or taking place. This whole operation is run by volunteers. I'm not unsympathetic. All that needs to be done is for me to assign what data the processor was able to extract, which in this case was, ah, age and not really anything else at all, take that, assign it to the information on the sheet, and forward it to the central census processing hub to be sorted through so he can be added to the database and probably have the sample and already-processed data analyzed. That's it."

"Analyzed? Fucking ANALYZED? BECAUSE IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO BE A MUTANT, I HAVE TO BE A LUSUSFUCKING LAB RODENT?" Karkat's standing now, shouting in the technician's face; the other troll is now backing up rapidly.

"That's not the point at all!", he says rather hastily. "The point is that it's unclear what effects your mutation might have on any number of attributes such as lifespan, psionics or psionic potential, health issues down the line... These things are all on the Empress's orders and I don't think that the Empress's intentions are to violate anyone's privacy or treat them like sub-sentients." Karkat's breathing slows. His fists slowly unclench.

"Fine," he says through gritted fangs. "Fine. Whatever. Just get me on that TAINTCHAFING WASTECHUTE-HUMPING VESSEL and whatever the hell this 'analysis' shit comes up with I'd better get the FULL GODDAMNED REPORT the second it's done."

"Absolutely, Mr. Vantas," the technician says. He slowly, nervously returns to the machine next to your still-growling and shaking moirail, types rapidly, then returns to his seat at the desk. "I, ah, well. Considering your rather intense moirallegience I think it would be appropriate to assign the both of you to the same passenger block; this will ensure that you wind up in the same designated multi-species zone."

"Thank you," you say. "That is very much appreciated." Karkat grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously similar to 'yeah, thanks I guess'. "What was that, now?" He turns to you and glares. You smirk and raise an eyebrow. Karkat responds by rolling his eyes and flipping you off. "Are we free to proceed, then?", this directed at the technician, who simply nods. The two of you file out the exit door and prepare to board.

 

* * *

 

Your passenger block is fortunately designed for two, leaving you with no strangers to concern yourself with. There are two recuperacoons of course, and you wonder whether or not Karkat will want his own. The two of you are now highly accustomed to sleeping together, and you think that you at least might be a bit lonely now without him. He stands with you by the viewport as the ship rises, gravity regulation systems making the transition from planetary surface to orbit and beyond eerily smooth. Neither of you says much; you're both entranced by the strangeness of watching Alternia shrink until it seems smaller than its own now-invisible moon, and then becomes smaller still, until your homeworld is barely a point of light amongst countless others. You're startled out of this state of wonder and melancholy by sound blaring through an audio projection system in an upper corner of your block, and presumably similar systems all throughout the ship.

"This is your pilot speaking," an authoritative female voice says. "We are engaging the 4W drive core in approximately two minutes. As per regulations I am obligated to recommend all passengers and personnel close their viewports and keep them closed until we reach our destination, which will be in, from our perspective, the rough equivalent of one point eight perigees. During the next hour all volunteers will be presented with schedules for meals and schoolfeeding on human culture and some language, as well as the mandatory installation of Alternian to Sol-Common slash Sol-Common to Alternian Automatic Translation Implants. That is all." The audio projection system shuts off with a small burst of static.

"Should we close the viewports?" you ask Karkat while there's still a chance. You probably have less than a minute to decide.

"Fuck yes," he says, "Although I'm really curious about what's gonna be out there." He presses a button next to the viewport on his side and a metal plate hisses down, sealing it off. You do the same to the other.

"What do you mean?" And then there's a horrific and massive sound in your head, something like ten thousand panes of glass shattering all at once, and the entirety of your body buzzes with strange energy for a few seconds. You find yourself with one hand pressed feebly against your temple and the rest of you slumped against the wall. Karkat is doing more or less the same thing.

"How do you not know this shit? Have you seriously never looked into the mechanics of fucking FTL travel?" He looks rather affronted.

"I have seriously never looked into the mechanics of fucking FTL travel," you recite solemnly, and he groans.

"Okay, well, I'll give you the short version. The 4W drive system bypasses the universal constant of light speed in order to allow for travel between star systems and galaxies in a reasonable timeframe. It does so by utilizing a specialized drive core, the specifics of whose construction and functioning are a highly regulated Imperial secret, fucking naturally, in order to break through the dimensional barrier between universes, which, due to our existence in a three-dimensional world, somehow got named the Fourth Wall. Hence the designation of 4W drive."

"All right, that's quite informative and all, but why does it mean we should be closing our viewports? That is the part I was asking about, really."

"Because there are... things, outside the Fourth Wall," Karkat says, and something about the words he chooses and the nervous way he says them makes the hairs on your head bristle in their follicles. "Nobody really knows what the fuck they are or exactly what they look like. The theory is that they're either or both not entirely comprehensible to beings from our universe or literally too goddamned physically large to be fully seen. They don't show up as existing at all on any sensors, not that there's much to sense out here. But what a lot of trolls have reported seeing is... not fucking pretty, to say the least. There's rumors, maybe myths, that too much visual exposure alone to the space outside the Fourth Wall and the things inhabiting it can drive somebody shithive maggots, or at least fuck them up pretty bad. Basically, it's not a risk we want to take, even though I really, really, really want to." He actually looks like he's still deciding whether or not to reopen his viewport.

"Don't open it," you say, and he looks at you, surprised. "I can tell you're thinking about it. Whether or not it's rumor or myth, we're not risking any more mental problems than we already have, let alone total loss of sanity." His face sort of falls, but at the same time he looks relieved. You suppose this is one of the many purposes moirallegience can serve: keeping your moirail from doing anything that might destroy his mind simply because he's intensely curious about extradimensional nightmare creatures.

"Hey, wait one goddamned second," he says suddenly. "What was that part about 'mandatory installation of whatever the fuck neural implants?' I don't remember hearing jack shit about that before signing up for this program." Your eyes widen as you realize he's right. Having some sort of cybernetic modification to your actual literal thinkpan is not something you consented to or were even informed of. Well, nothing to do about it now but deal with it when the time comes. You say as much and while he spends a while condemning the Empress and the E.E.P. in general, he knows you're right. You're obviously in this thing much too deep to back out now.

"Karkat," you say awkwardly. "We have separate recuperacoons again, finally." He looks at you with a total lack of expression, waiting for you to finish; he knows you well enough to be able to tell when more words are on their way. "But... do you want to maybe still share one?" He looks at the recuperacoons, at you. Ten or fifteen seconds pass in silence.

"We've got 'roughly one point eight perigees' left before we get to wherever they're sending us," he says, and you're treated to the rare sight of Karkat Vantas's rather lovely smile, as odd as it may look on his face. "Might as well take advantage of them." He extends a hand in your direction and forms his half of your diamond.

As you complete the gesture, you find yourself smiling, too.

 

* * *

 

**Location: ???. Estimated Sol-Common Date: 12/30/2058. One day after the arrival of the third wave of transport ships ferrying new E.E.P volunteers to the Sol System.**

* * *

 

 

In a simple room without windows, walls painted dark gray, furnished only with a bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and a small circular table with two chairs, a brief conversation is held between the two people seated across from one another.

"The Knights of Time and Blood and the Sylph of Space, living in the same apartment," the first person says. "What a peculiar coincidence."

"Yeah, and it ain't exactly wise to forget they're in the same damn city as a Prince, a Seer, and a Rogue. Hell, with how little dirt we got to go on, there could be even more," says the other. "What the hell's going on here?"

"That makes six in one small area on one small planet, all at the same time. One has to wonder whether or not other forces are becoming involved, ones who are clearly more informed than we are at the moment."

"We're getting played like fools, that's what's going on. Some son of a bitch has gotta be doing this on purpose, you know I'm right."

"It is possible. But I wouldn't discount the possibility that simple causality or an unknown ally is responsible. Not everyone in the universe is an enemy, you know. It remains to be seen whether we are alone in this endeavor."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Let's see what you're saying when this whole thing goes south on us. I'm guessing it's gonna be something like 'Goddamn, I sure wish I hadn't fooled around and assumed the best of a volatile situation.' And then when we're all getting screwed and murdered I'll get to say 'Told ya so' before the bullets start to fly. What I gotta wonder is this: do we want all of these stupid kids in one place, or do we want them as far away from each other as we can get 'em?"

"That is a rather good question, especially considering what happened with the Witch of Life and her own Prince. Frankly, I'm still not sure whether or not that particular regime change was in our favor or not, or who was responsible for giving her the power to accomplish such an absurd feat. To think, the great and mighty Condesce herself, felled by an Alternian child with powers far beyond those of her peers. One has to wonder how exactly she attained her level of mastery, and how, even with that power at her disposal, she was able to slay such an ancient and mighty creature. Amusing though, isn't it, that a Thief known by many as 'the witch' was defeated and usurped by one who is a Witch in truth."

"Look. All of this here, this ain't getting us nowhere right now. Only option we've got at this stage of the game is to watch and wait. Used to be I thought different, thought you oughta make your move first and let Skaia pick up the pieces, so to speak. But that was a long time ago. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one big question I want a damn answer to before any more of the pieces show up on the board."

"And that question would be?"

"... Are we the good guys here, or are we the bad guys?"

"I wish it were that simple, old friend. I truly do."

**END OF PROLOGUE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.


	7. Act 1-1: The Girl Behind The Counter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story officially begins! I'm going to start tagging for relationships that are obviously building once there's signs that they're a possibility, because it seems kind of silly not to.

**ACT ONE -- HEROES WITHOUT A CAUSE**

 

_why do i assume these things are_

_bad, bad, burnt down, burnt down?_

_why must all those pretty things be_

_sad, sad, somehow, somehow?_

[ _pinback - june_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1bautIwf5ew)

* * *

 

You spend some time doing research. Well, okay, that's a pretty fucking big word for using human extranet search engines for a few hours, squinting to make sense of the weird blur of proper letters hovering above all those incomprehensibly goddamn squiggly human ones, the brightness on your primitive alien husktop cranked way the fuck down. In theory there are a ton of places you could go, even just within a couple of leagues. Of course in practice you'd have to try to deal with and make sense of 'public transportation', which, what even... what, or do the utterly unthinkable and ask Strider to drive you in his ancient shitty four-wheeled vehicle, which you would never do to get anywhere under any circumstances and you'd damn yourself to an eternity lashed to a Dersite torture rack before you let him have any idea where you're going or why.

So you've pretty much decided on what you need and you're going to not the closest possible location because it sounds sketchy as hell, but the second closest, which is still only a league away on foot and seems to strike a reasonable balance between not selling total pieces of shit and not charging so much human currency that it's basically motherfucking robbery. Speaking of, as insane as it is to use _paper money_ , you'll give the aliens this much: it's a lot easier to carry on your person. You've still got a small sack of caegars lying around, mostly for sentimental value, and you have some semi-reasonable amount of 'dollars' (when are you gonna stop with this air-quoting alien words in your head thing, though, it's getting a little godamned old) that you've managed to save up from the basic monthly distribution that E.E.P. trolls all end up with. Most of that goes to food, so you just don't bother eating once in a while, and voila, suddenly you have money! You guess some things aren't that different than they were back home after all.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time to figure out when the hell the shop you're getting ready to walk to closes and whether or not you can go there after dark, but you get lucky and it's open pretty late for whatever reason. Speaking of embarrassing, this is gonna be one of the most embarrassing things you've literally ever done in your entire fucking life, but since nothing else has worked for you after that one completely insane night and it's already been another seventy two hours since then, you figure being incredibly embarrassed for a few minutes is an okay price to pay for not dying in even more incredibly humiliating agony.

You fold up some iridiscent paperish rectangles and cram them into one pocket of your pants, then write yourself some directions and stick those in the other one. Welp. That's it. If you put this off any longer you'll be putting it off until your next conscious cycle and doing that strikes you as one of those goddamned mental slippery slope things. Procrastination tends to lead to more procrastination and you don't have the fucking luxury of wasting any more time. You take a deep breath and head out into the block where Strider's shitty couch and viewscreen are set up. Maybe you'll be lucky and he won't be in there.

Like you're ever lucky.

"My god, what in the hell is this hideous fuckin' creature stumblin' outta my roommate's -- holy shit, can it be? Karkat fucking Vantas, NOT only showin' hisself as some like ominous flicker of gray and orange for two seconds a couple times a day so an actual functional person can shove food through his cracked door? Lord, spare me this batshit fever dream."

"Keep it in your goddamn seedflap, motherfucker, I never see you out of those ridiculous jeans so I can only assume getting them stained would be the death of your entire wardrobe, and I for one would rather stick my head in a meat grinder full of behemoth leavings than see your gross ass without pants on. Oh god, just thinking about it's gonna give me fucking daymeres for perigees."

"Man, I don't even wanna think about what most of that shit meant. And like, dude, do you even know how human junk --"

"THIS IS NOT A SENTENCE YOU NEED TO FINISH," you say very loudly and firmly. "Keep your head up your wastechute where it belongs so it muffles your grating fucking voice, just having to stand here while words come out of your warped squak gaper is making me feel like my aural canals are wigglers rolling around in salted razorblades."

There's the quiet but unmistakeable sound of somebody's primary vocal chambers being cleared from the door leading to the kitchen. Strider ignores it completely and you turn to see Kanaya looking you meaningfully in the eyes, then looking at the human, then back at you again and raising her brow. It takes you a few seconds before you realize what she's implying.

"Oh HELL no, don't even think about it. I know that fucking look. Nope. No. Never gonna happen, not going there, in fact I actually have somewhere to be right motherfucking now so I'm taking this _heinous_ and disgusting thing you're silently suggesting, slicing it into a thousand tiny gore-soaked thought-chunks and flushing them right down the goddamned load gaper. I will see you assholes later. Or hopefully I'll see you later and Strider here'll have finally suffocated in his own winding filth tunnel, that'd be just fucking super. Karkat has officially left the building."

"Karkat officially ain't know how to keep from talkin' about himself from a third-person perspective on account of Karkat's rapid descent into incredibly hilarious psychosis. Karkat officially thinks he's the main character in a lengthy young adult novel series for teenage girls where all he does is describe, in third person, the way he ain't do a goddamn thing apart from lyin' around cryin' in his bedroom and havin' existential crises about his floppy alien boner disorder."

"Karkat officially 'ain't know' how much longer he can go before he buries a fucking sickle in his insufferably and unjustifiably smug nooksniffing alien hivemate's fragile thorax. And, holy shit, incredibly and as previously stated, he is now OFFICIALLY. OUT. OF. THE. BUILDING."

And a few rapid steps later, you are.

 

* * *

 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god, why did you do this? Humans are supposed to be diurnal and yet the streets are still fucking choked with bodies. Some of them don't really look at you, mostly the ones who don't seem to actually notice you're a troll, probably because they see like shit in the dark and your stupid nubby little horns are actually an advantage for once, but most of them do, and the constant feeling of at least a dozen eyes on you at once, most of which are suspicious if not outright hostile, is even more terrifying than it is infuriating. You can't be the only troll wandering around out here, but you sure as fuck don't see anybody else with horns, and you're sure as fuck looking.

There's this thing going on where every time you get a certain distance down the ferrocrete slabs that line both sides of that black shit they drive their vehicles on, you usually have to stop and wait for this system of differently colored lights to change. It looks like it's got the dual purposes of regulating road space so there aren't constant fatal collisions happening and giving people on foot opportunities to cross without constant fatal collisions happening. You guess considering they all use land-based vehicles the system works pretty well, but fuck does it ever make walking a league take longer than you would have imagined. At every one of these intersections roads you find yourself nervously checking the time on your comm unit, because this place is open for a while after dark, but you're gonna be getting there a whole lot later than anticipated.

Humans are weirdly small. Like, a lot of them are still fucking taller than you are, but even their adults never get much bigger than Kanaya, which you don't notice for a while until you remember that _most of the humans you're seeing are adults_ because this planet actually lets its younger populace and fully matured populace mingle. Suddenly you think about Strider and you realize, wait, is he an adult? He can't be, that's goddamned ridiculous, weren't you all supposed to end up cohabitating with humans around your age? When do humans stop physically maturing, though? What constitutes adulthood on this planet? Why didn't you look into any of this shit, or at least try to pay attention to any of of your schoolfeeding back on the ship before you got here? Strider is a few inches shorter than Kanaya and a decent bit thinner, but maybe that doesn't mean some of the things you assumed it meant.

The Prospit-side of all of this is the way you're pretty sure you can take any of these fuckers in a fight if you have to, but just as you're thinking that you remember watching that first drop pod land on Charon, remember that while the Empire was definitely winning the war, it took a perigee just to take that moon and by Ascension Night you still hadn't managed to wrestle the dwarf planet away from its alien owners. There's no question that humans are by far the most dangerous species ever encountered, and you have to keep reminding yourself of that, make sure not to forget that some of them must have specibi, keep in mind that Strider looks like he might snap in half under a stiff wind and yet once or twice you spied on him practicing with his sword in your hive's rear outdoor enclosure and when he's not moving all slow like he's in some kind of martial arts movie, he can swing that sword so fast your eyes can barely follow it and so hard that he practices by slicing up steel poles and small ferrocrete blocks that he tosses into the air and never lets land in less than four neatly divided pieces.

Maybe you should cut back on threatening him just a little bit, actually. As much as it infuriates you beyond all possible motherfucking words to admit it, you're pretty sure that if you actually had to fight him, like, really fight him, to the death, he'd kill you before you could get your sickles out. And you've always thought of yourself as being quick in a fight.

Fuck, for all you know, half the fucking humans passing you by could easily be a match for you or more than a match. God, this stupid species. Shit, you hate this planet.

 

* * *

 

You finally get there about fifteen minutes before closing time, a little hole in the wall business marked by a garish sign made of glowing purple tubes that look like they might actually be letter-shaped gas-discharge lamps. Argon, maybe? Anyway, you freeze up a little in front of the door, as if you're going to just turn around and walk back to the hive after all of this effort, though, come on, and then think ah to hell with it and push the door in. There's a cheery little jingle as you pass the threshold and it startles you so fucking badly you almost make an embarrassing noise.

It's not big in here, but it's bigger than it looked. There's a bunch of things on shelves along the walls, pretty much none of which make any sense to you but must be intended for various filthy activities. In front and to the left is a glass counter with more incomprehensible objects inside, staffed by a lone human girl or maybe woman who looks kind of like Lalonde, at least in that they both have that weird pale tan skin and yellow-gold hair; other than when there are obvious details like that to consider it's honestly kind of hard for you to tell all the aliens apart. Farther inside the place are a few aisles that are just a bit too high for you to see over, but you do notice a group of three human males wandering around and laughing nastily to each other, which really breaks the surprisingly tolerable vibe you were starting to get. Your gaze flickers back to the girl behind the counter and without meaning to you meet her eyes for a second. Her irises are sort of purple like Lalonde's but brighter and more intense, almost fuchsia, and you really wish you knew whether human iris color has anything to do with their age or social caste. She smiles at you and gives a little wave. You jerk your head away, take a few more steps inside. When the door closes itself behind you, anxiety starts to build up even further. If shit goes downhill for some reason and you have to make a run for it, that one or two second delay it'll take to get through there could cost you your life.

The males are getting louder and more obnoxious. At least one of them sounds weird and keeps slurring his words like he's on some kind of soporific, which maybe he is, who knows. You're scared, knowing you're scared is making you pissed, and being pissed results in a little growl welling up in your primary vocal chamber without your permission. Bunch of goddamned stupid assholes. If only the place had been empty apart from that girl. You know humans have a lot of weird flipped ideas when it comes to gender roles and while you also know that any one of them might still be completely lethal, the typical human female is supposed to be more like the typical Alternian male, which at least means you're a bit less likely to get violated and/or brutally murdered. Or maybe not. Assumptions like that are exactly what could be the death of you.

When you look back at the girl she's looking at the males, and then she seems to sense you looking at her, turns back toward you, sort of jerks her eyes in their direction then shrugs and rolls them irritably as if to say 'what can you do?' There's something weird about her. She's obviously not much happier about those guys being around than you are, but something about the way she expressed it... what is that, exactly? Even if it was some sort of commiseration, any sort of display of negative emotion right now should be freaking you out worse, but instead you get kind of a positive feeling out of it. Weird. You can only think of two people who've made you feel anything similar about similar things. One of them is Kanaya and the other one, well. This isn't a night you feel like ruining, so the less time spent thinking about that the better. You shrug back, look over the store again and realize you have absolutely no fucking clue what you're looking for or how to look for it. That only leaves one option, so you walk up to the counter.

"Anythin' in particular I can help you with, dude?" The 'I' comes out a little slow and weird, almost more like 'ah,' and it irks you a bit that she apparently has an accent that's similar your shit-eating hivemate's, but whatever.

"Uh," you say. Shit. What do you even say? How are you supposed to deal with this situation? You've only even spoken to a few humans at all, let alone about anything like... this. "Shit. Probably. I guess?" You can tell you're about a second away from blushing and, infuriatingly, you can't help but look away out of instinct. "God damn it," you say out loud without meaning to. She laughs and you look back up quickly, ready to snap out something scathing, but then she actually looks sympathetic, if still amused.

"Chill, it's en bee dee," she says, which means absolutely nothing but you hope the context means it's something reassuring and not condescending. "Ain't ever been anywhere like this, am I right?" You scowl and reluctantly shrug and she smiles a little bit wider. So many things about her should be pissing you off but for some reason you have this gut feeling that she doesn't mean any harm, which is probably going to cost you if you listen to it, but what else can you do right now? "Let's make it simple, huh? What'd you come here lookin' for?" An answer is slowly, awkwardly forming in your head when abruptly the noise from the rest of the store is an awful lot closer. Fuck, why'd you let your guard down, shit!

"Hey man, look what we've got here," one of the males says, and of course he's looking right at you, because who else would he be looking at? "Real life space invader, standing right in plain view like it thinks anybody wants its dirty murdering fucking kind around." Shit, he's big, he's taller than Kanaya and looks built, although if Strider's anything to go by then trying to judge how dangerous humans are based on that shit is a bad idea. He elbows a shorter friend and the three of them snicker darkly.

"Look at what I've got here!" you say like the idiot you are. "It's a couple of dumbfuck strung-out bulgemunches who're begging to get disemboweled! It's like Twelfth Perigee's Eve in here, what a goddamned holiday miracle, I just can't wait to hang your entrails all over some out of season behemoth leavings." Suddenly they're glaring a lot harder and the big one takes a step closer to you.

"You wanna start something, grayskin?" he says quietly, dangerously.

"Y'all wanna start somethin' maybe try takin' it the fuck outta my store," the girl says suddenly, startling you as well as the male humans. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. No, it's fine, don't bother with introductions! Pretty sure I seen you 'round here before. You're, uh... Oh, that's right, you're a couple a drunk racist idiots with three-inch dicks who just earned their sorry asses a lifetime ban from this establishment." They all stare dumbly for a second. "You heard me. Get the FUCK out or I call the cops and after tonight, I see any a you so much as walkin' by my door you're gonna be wakin' up in a hospital if you wake up at all." The big one steps toward her and suddenly she slams her palms down against the glass hard enough to make it shake, leans forward across the counter. You almost swear her eyes are literally glowing with rage. "AH SAID GIT THE FUCK OUT!"

And amazingly they actually do, although they cuss her out first and one of them flips her off. Huh. Does that mean the same thing on Earth that it meant back home? That's pretty goddamned bizarre. Once the last one's out the door she leans back, takes a deep breath, sighs.

"Oh em fuckin' gee." She rubs at her temples, looking tired, and you're amazed to see that she went from screaming fury to just irritability without breaking anything or having anybody calm her down. "Sorry 'bout that. Goddamn bunch a overgrown manybaby ex-jocks think they got the right to do whatever they wanna. Christ. Oooh there was a war, big deal, blah fuckin' blah. Like they know jack shit 'bout anythin'. Ain't like you were out there killin' anybody on Charon and Pluto. Ain't like soldiers get to pick the wars they end up in anyway. Talk about a pain in the ass."

"Fuck," you manage. "Wow. How the fuck did you just get three humans who were twice your size to book it like they thought you were going to send them straight to Derse without even pulling some kind of god-weapon?" She stares and you think something about what you said must not have translated quite right, then she seems to get the gist and smirks.

"Call it a family thing," she says, whatever that means. "So, now we got the fucknut brigade outta this joint, how 'bout we do some business?"

"Oh, shit, right. Yeah. I uh. I don't actually... know anything about... Oh my god I hate fucking culture shock, this is like nailing my bulge to the wall in ten different places. Okay. The whole... This using objects for pailing yourself or, I don't know, somebody else, how the hell should I know, this whole thing, we don't really do that back home, but... Ugh. Let's just say I have reasons, okay?"

"Ain't need to git all worryin' about none a that," she says, and damn, that accent got really strong after the males left. Maybe she was holding it back for some reason. "Ah work here, right? Ah mean when ah ain't hackin' up mad cash like the baddest bitch in town, but ah didn't say nothin' about that, 'kay? 'Kay! Awesome. So keep talkin', horny boy." She giggles after that last sentence, although you don't really know why, and it doesn't seem like she's making fun of your horns being short or anything. Maybe it's just something she calls trolls, but then why did she laugh? Aliens are a fucking mystery.

"An, uh, well, somebody I know sort of lent me this thing that vibrated? Which actually literally saved my life, long story, but I kind of wanted to maybe actually... fucking own one, because I don't think that's happening again and anyway it's goddamned gross letting your moirail's matesprit's weird alien sex aid touch your junk." You know you're blushing bright red and all you can do is hope she somehow doesn't know what that means. She's an alien, some of them get pink in the face sometimes, maybe she won't. Please don't let her know.

"Oh man, ah gotcha. Mostly been there, trust me. First time with anythin' vibratin's like gettin' the 'holy shit this is the best thing ever' part a your brain hit with a taser." She rummages through some stuff you can't see and then slaps down smallish package with a device in it that's kind of like the one from Lalonde's box but sort of thicker, shaped a little differently with a slight curve to it, more white than silver although it's still glossy. Well, that seems like it should do the trick, yeah. "Works okay, rechargeable, probably ain't break on ya for a while as long as you ain't takin' it in the shower or nothin', ain't gonna burn a hole in your wallet neither. Ell oh ell, now ah'm seein' like this vibrator all wreathed in flames, clothes bustin' out like blue smokin' hellfire, some poor sumbitch's clothes goin' up like kindlin' screamin' like 'oh mah gawd ah never dreamed this vibrator was gonna be the death a me,' that's somethin' beautiful right there, oughta write that one down and e-mail it to my little brother when ah get off." She catches your eye and winks meaningfully. "Woooonk," she says, baffling you entirely, "get off a work ah mean. So you got caegars or dollars, dude, 'cause as much as ah'd like it to be easier, this register ain't set up for nothin' but paper cash, VISA, or Mastercard."

"Uh, yeah, no, I've got alien, I mean human money." Holy fuck but are you ever making an ass out of yourself tonight. This whole thing is even worse than you thought it would be. Or is it? No, it's worse, why'd you just think that, that doesn't even make any sense. You don't even have a reason to think something like that, do you? It's embarrassing and stupid and it's costing you money, so why do you feel sort of happy right now?

"Gonna run ya twenty seven twenty four after the taxin'," she says. You pull out some of the shiny papers from your pocket, make sure you know what's on each one. You have no idea how the fuck you're supposed to get an amount that precise when the lowest physical denomination you're aware of, this 'dollar' thing, counts for one hundred of some even smaller fucking units, so you just give up, overshoot, and hand them over. "So that's outta two fivers and one Obama, cool, cool." She does something to a machine off to the side and slips the money into two different little slots. "Change is two seventy six, one sec." The girl quickly tugs a few more paper slips back out of the same machine after maybe entering some data, and then actually brings out some coins. You didn't have any idea human money even used coins, mostly you just transfer your money to Kanaya's account and she handles buying food and necessities. You don't bother counting it, didn't expect to get the difference returned to you in the first place anyway, just shove it back in your pocket with the rest of the human money you have on you. There's a grinding noise and then a piece of thinner, white paper with a lot of small human letters you aren't even going to try to parse on it in tiny black ink. "Receipt's done, there ya go. Have a good one, dude!"

"Yeah. I... yeah, you too, I guess." You make it most of the way to the door with the little paper slip and the package in a in the little bag she put them in that looks like it's maybe made of polyethylene, and then hesitate and turn back, because unexpectedly you have more to say. "That was really fucking cool, the thing with those nooksniffing shitfucks back there. I didn't really think I'd see, you know. Any goddamned humans sticking up for me. I was just hoping I'd make it out of this place without getting raped and beaten to death, honestly, even though maybe I could've taken them if I had to, I don't know. I don't know how to tell if somebody's a decent fighter when they're not a troll, I guess." She looks shocked for a second for some reason and then sort of happy and sad at the same time.

"Be kinda hypocritical a me to hate on aliens when ah got myself a matesprit," she says, and your eyes widen a bit. "Call her my girlfriend sometimes, just cause she gets all cute and pissy 'bout it, them fins all flarin' out and shit, but ah got the lingo, you know? Anyway, best a luck to ya." She waves and, not knowing what else to say, you push through the door, ignoring the little bells that ring, almost feeling like you're going to smile or some fucked up thing like that. The dark outside is comforting, easier on your eyes. You pause for a bit to let yourself adjust and two of the males from before grab you by the arms and then hurl you back you against a nearby wall.

"Think it's time for a little inter-species payback," the big one says, and why on Derse did you even begin to let yourself hope that tonight had a chance of ending without somebody dead in a dark alley somewhere?


	8. Act 1-2: Blood's On Fire (Fistkind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for self-harm.

_wound open and squeezing my heart against_

_this pain inflicts, and in passion i bleed for it_

_but with this, what they gave me, this book_

_and flint and a match to go with it_

[ _coheed and cambria - hearshot kid disaster_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCa4CmqIoLk)

 

* * *

 

"I don't know about that whole payback thing," you say. "Seems to me that a couple bored fuckasses on soporifics shouldn't be pissing off a born motherfucking killer. What's it gonna be, kids? Back the hell off, or die choking on your own tainted blood?" You grin and show plenty of fang, because what else can you do? You're outnumbered three to one now that the big asshole is in view. You have no idea how to judge whether or not that actually means you're screwed. Not to mention _they have your back against a wall_. Why is that so intensely terrifying apart from the obvious tactical implications? When was the last time someone had your back to...

Oh. Right. That was when. Well, okay. That's fine. Whatever. Fuck it. They're not her, she got cut in half over two sweeps ago and left to rot, and what good is fear when it's all you're feeling, anyway? What you need right now is to focus.

"I think anybody's dyin' tonight it's gonna be you, grayskin," the thinner shorter one to the side says, and they all laugh together because they're idiots so before any of them has a chance to pay attention to what's happening again you've sunk your left fist as deep as you can into the big one's stomach, that's the big opener so it's your dominant hand that gets the job, and you lash out with your right and score clawmarks across the thin one's face. The big one grunts and his shitscum fuckslinger of a friend or whatever screams and stumbles back with a hand over his face, blood running from...

Blood, running from between his fingers. Red blood, candy red. It's not like you didn't know what color human blood was, but actually seeing it like this, seeing your blood come out of someone else, shocks you way too badly and before you regain your composure the one on your left backhands you across the face and two of your fangs dig into your cheek, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. Blinking a few stars out of your eyes you press a foot against the wall, drop your head and then shove forward, horn-slamming him in the gut. Goddamn your fucking height, if you weren't such a shitty pathetic runt you could've nailed him in the bonecage and really put the hurt on him. He stumbles back, coughing, and then the big one's apparently recovered because he returns the little favor you gave him and he doesn't throw punches like that indigo bitch from way back on Ascension Night but it still feels like getting hit with a slaghammer and the next thing you know you're on your knees. Guess maybe this is where you die, after all. What a worthless story.

"Yeah, how's it feel to be the one kneeling, alien? You like how that tastes?" You spit a mouthful of blood onto the dark tarry-looking ground, and you stare at it for a second as it settles there, glistening. Time ceases to exist. Only two things exist: Karkat Vantas and the bright red liquid that flows through his veins and the veins of nearly every other inhabitant of this planet.

Abruptly time resumes, and to your surprise you find that you've burst into flames from the inside out.

It starts in your bloodpusher and moves through your veins and limbs and you feel it, the color of it, not orange but red, red, red, _the fire is red and so are you_. You look up, shaking from the force of the conflagration, and your dominant hand goes to your waist. Suddenly all three of them take a step back like it's not way too late for them already, raise their hands like they were just playing around and you're taking the whole thing way too seriously. "Whoa, whoa, Jesus Christ. You gotta know those're illegal. You can't have that, you're not..." You spit another mouthful of blood and it splatters across the offensively white shirt their shitty leader is wearing.

"Fucking warned you," you snarl, and you're almost surprised when opening your mouth doesn't let out a gust of fire or at least some steam. Every drop of blood in your body is singing one word, and that word is _KILL_. "Told you. Should've listened. Fuuuuck, it's gonna feel good to watch you shitpailing pincerbugs bleed out. Hear you puking every last ounce of blood while you beg Skaia for mercy you don't deserve."

"You can't," the one you clawed says. He keeps wiping red off of his face but it looks like you didn't manage to blind him, damn. Your secondary vocal chambers are rumbling so hard they ache. Your aural canals are ringing, or is there some high-pitched noise somewhere? It doesn't matter. All that matters is them. All that matters is what your blood is still screaming as it burns. "Especially with... with one of those. You'll, you'll spend the rest of your life in prison, and that's if you're lucky."

"Maybe," you say. "Maybe I will. But you won't be around to see it happen." The tip of your foreclaw shivers as it rests for a moment on the little circle beneath your shirt. Blood. It's always blood. Everything comes down to blood, in the end, and you're about to bathe in it when an unexpected sound interrupts the whole scene.

"Eh-HEM." A familiar and distinctly annoyed voice, female, not actually clearing her primary vocal chambers but making some noises that you think are maybe supposed to represent the action. "I think maybe y'all need some advice on, like, followin' the spirit of the law and not just the letter? 'Cause when I said to git the fuck outta my store I ain't remember followin' that shit up with 'ell oh ell though you totes got the go ahead to gang up on that cute guy like you got no sense a fuckin' fair play.'" Your claw hesitates. The flames flicker. They've turned around, the worthless undisciplined jackasses, they didn't even move sideways to minimize the risk of being flanked. They could die. You could kill them all right now, kill them before they even knew what was happening. Something's going on that keeps you from jumping these pieces of living garbage, though, something makes you hesitate, probably to your own detriment. It's hearing that voice, you think. The human female from the store. You can sort of see her standing maybe ten or twelve feet away from these Dersebound bloodsacks.

"Yeah? And what'chu think you're gonna do about it, little girl?" The big one. Oh, no, he didn't. He did _not_ just threaten the first kindhearted alien you've met in a quarter of a fucking sweep. But he did. He did exactly that. He'll be the first to bleed and the last to die, you decide. You'll take it slow and make sure it plays out that way, make sure he's writhing in pain while he watches his friends being cut into countless bits of meat before you gut him like an oinkbeast, let him him try to hold on to his insides for a while before you finally get around to slitting his throat.

"Maybe somethin' like this," she says, and all of a sudden she isn't ten feet away at all, she's right in front of the big guy, so quickly you barely register the movement, it's like she's a female version of Strider or something. He raises a hand in shock and she grabs hold of his arm, does something else you can't see from the angle you're at, and then somehow the big guy is upside down and in the air. Just watching it makes you dizzy, and half a second later he's not upside down any more, he's sprawled on the ground looking distinctly unconscious. The other two step back but you know how to call a fight that's really already over. When her little fist, almost the same size as yours, hits the thin one in the stomach, he doesn't stagger or stumble, he _launches_ back like a bomb just went off right in front of him and his body smashes into the dull red brick and mortar wall, just a few feet to your side. You're pretty sure that the cracking sounds you hear come from both his bones and the wall. As he's sliding to the ground the last male lunges for her, throwing a solid looking punch. She catches his fist with her palm and closes her hand around it. You can hear something crack and he shrieks and writhes and when she lets go and all he can do is stare in agonized horror at fingers that aren't bending right any more, the girl snorts in disgust. "Fuckin' noob," she mutters, and then she steps forward with her right hand held flat like a blade and slams it diagonally against the side of his neck. He crumples and hits the ground with a loud thump.

You stare, awed, still shaking in the throes of a killing rage that no longer has an outlet.

Maybe those fuchsia eyes really do come with some kind of alien version of highblood strength. She turns to look at you, and, incredibly, she's actually _worried_. You know people, you know faces, even alien ones, she's _worried about you_ and she just flipped another human twice her size and weight upside down and smashed his fucking skull into the ground. For you. Because they were hurting _you._

"You alright, dude?" she says, but all you can do is let out a vicious growl in response. Your shaking hand slowly moves away from the trigger of your specibus and then you curl it into a fist and slam it into the hard ground, anything to discharge some of this energy. _Kill, kill, kill, kill them, kill them all, kill her, kill the Strider human, kill everything that bleeds, kill and kill and never stop,_ and no, no way, you're not gonna fucking do that, you're not, you can't, you won't, but everything is still burning and your blood is still talking so you laboriously curl up into yourself, huddling close to the ground. You try to say something, anything, something like 'get the fuck away from me' or 'I'm not safe right now' or even just 'run' but what comes out instead is a strangled howl. Not here, not now, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, FUCK, _FUCK._  Your body courses with the electric tingle of epinephrine oversaturation and combined with the screaming red blaze that still won't fade away, you know that you're capable of anything right now. "Ho-lee gawd-damn, it's all good, we're safe, you can relax, okay?" She takes a step closer to you and your left arm is halfway to her before you manage to stop it, fingers bent to angle your claws for maximum rending potential.

"G-ghh," you say. "G-get... bhxchkk. Bghk. Back." She raises her eyebrows and complies, just watching, worrying. "K-kill them," and you didn't even mean to say that, didn't even think it really, "k-kill them all, let the blood flow, let it out, let it burn, burn it all." You're not saying even one of these words on purpose, but your mouth just keeps moving, your vocal chambers keep the flood going. "Blood, it's all just blood, blood and fire, spill a river, spill an ocean, bleed, bleed, fucking bleed, shut UP SHUT THE FUCK UP, w-where are you, Sunshine, oh god, please, where are you," and _where is she,_ you need her and you need her _now_ , fuck, you can't do this alone and there's nothing to destroy except this girl who hasn't done a goddamn thing wrong and who might just kick your ass anyway, _kill, kill them, kill everyone, fight, fight until there's nothing left to fight against,_ "please, please, shut up, shut the fuck up, SHUT UP, _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_ "

Your fist is pounding the ground over and over, aching, tears are streaming from your anguish bladders and dripping onto your jeans, and the fire still won't stop, where is she, _why isn't she here?_  The why doesn't matter, though, and you know that. All that matters is that she's not here to fix you, so the only thing you're allowed to hurt right now is yourself. You grit your fangs, dig your claws into the flesh of your right arm, open four long furrows, wrap your hand around the fresh wounds and _squeeze_ , pain spiking and spiking, your hand slick with blood, "is that ENOUGH, _IS THIS ENOUGH MOTHERFUCKING BLOOD FOR YOU!?"_ , and then you're just screaming endless fury, wordless, squeezing again and again as the blood flows until something finally breaks along with your voice and the fire gutters and begins to die and the killing song wanes. Without the madness you're incredibly dizzy, you're totally spent and totally burned out. Everything is jittery and twisting and blurred. You slump back against the wall, not caring when the back of your head cracks against its rough surface.

"Uhhhhh," the girl says. Your eyes are shut now and you don't open them. "Let's start over now, 'kay?" You have no idea what that means, so you expend most of the energy you have left on a shrug. "You alright, dude?"

"Do I fucking look alright to you?"

"Psshh, no. Lookin' about as far from alright as ah think somebody can. You gonna try'n claw me or anythin' if ah come over there?"

"No." Your bonecage aches from your bloodpusher's relentless assault. "Couldn't if I wanted to. And I don't. Don't want to." If you were old-fashioned you'd be sending thank-you prayers to Skaia, but you're not, so you settle for just being unbelievably relieved that you got yourself under control with so little effort. You open your eyes and if you had it in you right now to be startled, you would be startled to see her kneeling in front of you. Even out here in the dark her irises are incredibly vivid, pure, brilliant, shining with the color of nobility. No, the color of royalty. You wonder in a haze of sparkling clouds just how the fuck an heiress, a warrior queen like this, ended up behind a glass counter selling recreational sexual devices, working a stupid boring job just like anybody else, and you hear a sound like tearing cloth as the clouds close in and everything fades away.

 

* * *

 

All you can feel is a gentle heat on your skin and warm stone under your back. All you can see is red against black. It's the kind of red you get when intense light is being filtered through something, and that brightest red in the center _hurts_ , it's like knives in your eyes. You try to open them, to sit up, to do anything but breathe, and none of it works. Not a fucking thing. Even thinking is difficult.

Then you hear voices, ones you're sure you know from somewhere, know really well, even. If your thinkpan was cooperating, you could definitely put names to them.

"Is he, uh, is he waking up? It's been a really, uh, long time, and it seems like he should be, awake by now, like the rest of us."

"How the hell should I know? Ooooooooh, look at his face, it's awesome. Something must hurt a whole fucking lot over there on... huh. Where did this asshole end up after he pulled a classic you move and ran off like a crying wiggler, anyway?"

"Uh, Earth, if I am remembering correctly, which I am, because I paid attention, because that is a thing that I like to do, instead of the thing that you do, where you are really mean to everyone, and make plans that aren't as thorough as you think they are."

Suddenly there's a shocking, dull thump, something hitting the side of your abdomen. You can feel yourself move with the impact, but it's limp, uncoordinated, like you're a jostled corpse. It happens again, and then two more times in quick succession.

"I'm not so sure, uh, that I'm okay with, what you are doing right now."

Shit, this sucks. It's also really painful, and it's still hard to think for some reason but you're pretty sure you're lying down, so maybe somebody's kicking you? Whatever's happening, it happens another four times before it stops.

"Like I care what you're okay with? Try and stop me, I fucking dare you!"

"I think, that is exactly what we will do, if you won't stop doing, the thing that you were just doing, which was not very nice."

"Who's we supposed to be, you and your imaginary friend? 'Cause you should've grown out of that bullshit sweeps ago. Actually, I think I remember beating it out of you."

"No, I'm we, tho thtep the fuck off. Now. I'm not gonna athk twithe. Not for you. There'th only one reathon I haven't burned you to a thinder already and it'th not gonna thave you if you keep doing shit like thith."

Somebody laughs. It's familiar, loud, piercing, and more than a little bit bloodthirsty.

"Jeeeeeeeez, everybody's a tough guy right now, huh? Bring it on! Maybe this time I'll make you kill two of your friends and not just one! Wouldn't _that_ be perfect? That's your thing, right, hacker boy? Twos and being my little murder-bitch whenever I feel like it?"

"You can, uh, definitely try that, and while you are doing so I will be, uh, right here, behind you, with this lance, which I am prepared to use because, uh, I have someone better than an imaginary friend now, to show me that I'm worth something."

"Nice try with the little trap here! Two on one, the fudgeblood cripple and the pusblood puppet, getting all self-righteous and shit. You can add yellow to brown as many times as you want and you're still never gonna get anything close to blue. Besides, it's bad karma to gang up on somebody like that, you know? And bad karma means you're in line for some _bad luck_."

"Is that, a statement that's supposed to mean you are issuing a challenge, because you are a Light aspect, and so it sounds like, uh, an aspect-related taunt that is also a challenge, in which case, to steal some of the words, that you are so fond of using, uh, bring it on."

"Give it thome thought, thyco. Thee whether you can hold onto my mind and thtill have enough left not to get lanthed in the back, or whether you can hold onto hith without getting blathted into atomth."

"Wow, and here I thought I was the only one around who knew how to cheat properly. In a way I'm almost proud! Brings a tear to my eye, etcetera. Whatever, none of you losers are worth the effort. Have fun with Mr. Permanent Coma here, he's seriously great company."

It's quiet for a while as a set of footsteps fades into the distance and then ceases to be audible.

"Thomeday she'th gonna croth the line again, and then it'th open theathon on thpiderth, I don't care what the ruleth are thuppothed to be."

"Uh, am I wrong in thinking, that the real reason that she left, is that she was scared."

"I don't think so, man! I've seen a lot of people trying to save face when they know they're beat, and that was pretty much textbook."

"Who the fuck ith thith? Ith that an alien? Where did he... ith that a he? Where'd he jutht come from?"

"Ouch, dang. I'm right here, you know. You could ask me, like, personally! That would not be a thing I'd have a problem with."

"He is, somebody that I met recently, uh, through my matesprit, because they are connected in, one of those ways that is really weird, uh, sorry, it's just hard sometimes, to make sense of your culture, I mean."

"You have a matethprit now? Wait, doeth that mean an alien matethprit? Holy shit, how'd that happen?"

"I think that, you are trying to be mean, in which case, uh, maybe you could try to not be doing that, because it's pretty uncalled for."

"Nah, he's just a dork. I mean, look at him! Trust me, I am a dork, I would know, and I've also gotten pretty good at knowing nice people when I see them. Kind of wish that hadn't turned out to be so important, though."

"Hey, KK lookth leth fucked up. He'th not doing the twitchy daymere thing with hith fathe, doeth that mean thomething?"

"Probably it means whatever's going on with his other body that hurts is done happening. Listen, don't worry about him. I don't know how he got all the way out here in the middle of the street, but I'll make sure my sister keeps an eye on him until he wakes up all the way, alright?"

"I don't mean to, uh, sound suspicious, or, ungrateful for the offer, but why does it matter to you, what happens to my friend, who you've never actually met."

"Well, nobody should get beat on like that, especially when they're not even conscious to fight back, plus I think that my sister would be pretty mad at me if I let something bad happen to her boyfriend's friend, especially when she could probably have done something about it! And anyway, I don't know. I like the look of him, I guess. I think maybe I've seen him in the clouds before. Both of us at the same time, even! So maybe we're destined to be friends or something."

"Tho you're dethtined for a friendship completely made up of shouting and being forthed to watch shitty romcomth. Congratulationth."

"It is, an unfortunate fact of life, that being around Karkat involves, uh, getting yelled at a lot, and subjected to a lot of bad movies, and also really gross metaphors."

"Altho thome crothdrething, but it theemth like you're already doing that, tho maybe you wouldn't care tho much. Or even notithe."

"I really feel like I'm missing something here, because a lot of that did not make sense to me, sorry!"

"I think that maybe we should talk about, uh, gender roles and clothing in human culture, because it is not the same, as it was back home, uh, where you are still living."

"Sure, whatever, thome other time. I'm not home, though, I'm with the fleet now. Anyway, ith he ever gonna wake up? He hathn't even been gone for very long, and I already kind of mith the thupid athhole. At leatht maybe we'd thee each other onthe in a while if he wath wandering around thith plathe too."

"That was, uh, better than usual, but you are still doing the thing that you do, where you hide a lot of how sad you are, about all of this in the first place, which my matesprit says is, uh, a bad way of dealing with emotions."

"Shut the fuck up, TV."

"I will shut up, when I am done having things to say, which, I guess is actually right now, so I'll stop talking about this, but not because you told me to."

"Wow. Leaving home really changed thingth for you, huh? Jutht don't lithten to anything magic eight-ball hath to thay, okay? I don't exactly have to tell _you_ that, but I keep theeing you and her together and it'th unthettling."

"That is definitely not a thing, that I needed anyone to say again, in order for me to not listen to the things she says, uh, and I think that it's less leaving home, and more the people I met after I did that, who changed things."

"Should I be standing here? I feel like I'm kind of just eavesdropping on something private. I can leave! I should be working with the breeze right now anyway. I never have a chance when I'm awake. Oh, hey, who's that? I don't think I've run into her before."

Another voice is suddenly part of the conversation, but you don't hear what it says, because that's the moment that you fade from red to black and from there, slowly, to somewhere completely different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason Karkat thinks of his left hand as his dominant one even though in canon he's the only right-handed troll. It'll come up at some point.


	9. Act 1-3: The Dude Is From Circumstances

_i feel like if i'm too kind then you will only change your mind_

_take advantage of my heart and i'll go back into the dark_

_love will never be forever, feelings are just like the weather_

_january to december, do you want to be a member?_

_lonely hearts club, do you want to be with somebody like me?_

[ _marina & the diamonds - lonely hearts club_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuwZ_WTBWRo)

 

* * *

 

So you've got a cute alien boy passed out in the back seat of your car! That is so not a thing you were expecting tonight. You also got a chance to 'practice' some brawling, but seriously? Talk about a joke. It almost feels like kicking those dudes' asses made you _worse_ at fighting instead of better, it's like you just got negative fist experience points from that embarrassing ass-kicking. Totes a drag, it barely even felt good taking them down, even though they had it coming like crazy. Speaking of asses, horny boy sure got his handed to him, but then again it ain't like everybody's a fuckin' martial artist. You saw the look in his eyes when he was obviously about to pop a specibus and those weren't the eyes of somebody who gets his ass kicked by a couple of drunk goons. If anybody went and asked you, you'd tell 'em those were the eyes of somebody who knew he was gonna kill three people in about half a second, and you'd like to think that after about a billion fights you've learned how to tell the difference between somebody spewin' pissed off dumbass bravado and somebody who's totally prepared to engage murder mode, and not for the first time, or the fifth, or even the tenth. God. If you weren't, like, driving and shit, you'd want to be a creep and ruffle his hair while he's out, because man, as much as bitchy-gills says she didn't mind it, these people's homeworld sounds like a total fuckin' nightmare and it kinda feels like every damn one of 'em could seriously use a hug or at least some form of affectionate consolation.

While you're stopped at a red, you glance back to where he's still out and sort of twitching, and fuck, when he was in the store, even when he was bein' all cute and nice at you, there was this sort of steel to him, a glare you figure he's been wearin' most of his life, but right now he just looks so _sad._ He goes from twitchin' to like jerkin' all weird and grimacing in this surreal way that makes it look like somebody's kickin' him in the gut, and for a second you kind of entertain the idea that maybe he's one of You, but that'd be a really weird coincidence and you shouldn't be goin' around thinkin' like every damn thing that happens to you has somethin' to do with _that_ total sanity-obliterating clusterfuck.

The red goes green on you and you almost get rear-ended by some douche but whatevs, you got way more important shit to worry about than random road rage. Like first of all, what the hell are you actually doin' right now? You ripped up some of your t-shirt and sort of sloppily tied it over his arm but he should probably be going to, like, a hospital, except human hospitals really don't give a shit about trolls and you don't think he'd even have any luck at the embassy hospital considering most of it's baaaasically a big pile of busted-up plaster, broken glass, and ashes right now. What you ended up doin' on the spot, obviously, was draggin' the poor guy into your back seat, which was actually harder than you expected; you shoulda known 'cause of tryin' some kinky stuff with Meenah, but trolls are like, _super_ dense and totally weigh at least half again as much as they look like they oughta. Horny boy, though. Wow. That was some _shit_ back there, no two ways about it.

You played it cool but seriously, that major freakout he had was pretty fucking scary to watch, if you're bein' honest with yourself, but then isn't that just how trolls get, from what you've heard? Gills ain't ever gone off like that but then again, when's she ever had a reason to? You're still not sure you totally get the stuff she tried to explain about the pale quadrant, but it had somethin' to do with pacifyin' the other partner in the relationship and after seein' horny boy lose his shit so hard you thought you might be seein' somebody have a major psychotic break, maybe you get why their culture has an entire category of romance based around keeping each other from murdering people. He had been asking for somebody, you remember, right before he ripped his own fuckin' arm open. Maybe that was his, whatever it's called? Your dork of a 'gillfrond' said it like 'moray-eel' but you've been fuckin' her long enough to know pretty much everything she says is some sort of ridiculous ocean-related pun.

You should probably Google this shit already instead of just askin' her about it; you still get the feelin' she's maybe not the best source of accurate information about her species. Or, like, anything even resembling a good source of literally anything apart from bitchy cuteness, hella rad kinky interspecies boning, and some really sweet moments that make her blush and punch you in the face when you make fun of her for gettin' sappy on you. God, she's fuckin' great. You are never gonna stop pattin' yourself on the back for reelin' her in. Reelin', ha, oh man, she's startin' to rub off on you. One of these days you're gonna hafta slip some fish puns into a few sentences without makin' a big deal out of it and see how she reacts. You just know it would be _so fuckin' adorable_. Adorabubble? So gonna call her that next time you see her, even though she's just gonna punch you in the face two seconds later. It's _adorabubble_ how she thinks that like, literally anything she could do to you without a weapon would even leave a bruise. Or maybe it's not some cultural thing and she totally knows it barely even stings and that's why she's doin' it at all. You're not sure if you're weird for thinking it's just as cute either way, but then, you're not sure you think exactly the same way most people do, so it probably doesn't matter.

Eventually you get to your damn apartment already, and since the dude is still out like a fuckin' light, you're so beyond glad you live on the first floor. After looking around a bit to make sure nobody's watchin' you, you manage to sort of uncomfortably hoist him over your shoulder like a person-sized sack of bony potatoes. Even if there was somebody there they probably wouldn't pay much attention; people generally don't notice you unless they've got a real good reason to, even if you're bein' totally suspicious. Somehow you get your keys out of your purse with one hand, which is seriously complicated, and once you're inside you just kind of flop him onto the couch.

While he's still out you root around in the bathroom for some alcohol, antibiotic gel, and proper bandages. You pull up a chair by the couch, 'cause like, what else are you gonna do with your night other than blowin' it all starin' at unconscious trolls, and after about a minute of that you realize you're bored so you head into the kitchen, almost make yourself a martini, and then decide this ain't a night to be fuckin' around so you break out some quality vodka and take a few brutal and satisfying swigs right out of the bottle. Gills is out for the night doin'... whatever the fuck she does, you're not really sure and it ain't your business anyhow, so at least this whole thing is spicin' up the evening. You look at the blood on your t-shirt scraps and figure it means he's 'rust' or whatever, as in the lowest of the low in troll society. It seems to you like 'rust' blood oughta be kinda darker than his, which looks pretty damn human, actually, but hey, you haven't exactly spent a lotta time deliberately starin' at any troll blood that ain't all purple and shit and comin' from some part of your girlfriend.

A few minutes later you think you see his eyelids sort of flutter and you get up excitedly and lean down over his face in case he's finally comin' out of it. Then his eyes snap open, pupils blown out hardcore with the faintest tinge of a red circle around them, and he bolts upright, accidentally slamming his forehead into yours.

"Fuck!" he spits, pressing one hand to his head and wincing. "What the shit? Where the hell am I?" Ouch, poor guy, that looks like it must hurt like a bitch. You don't really wanna make him feel dumb or nothin' so while he's sittin' himself up you kinda pretend it hurt you too, although you ain't much of an actress, so who knows if that'll work.

"My apartment," you say, because, like, what else are you gonna do but be straight with him -- oh my _GAWD_ straight, wow, if tonight ends up heading' in that direction you are gonna laugh _so_ hard. You can picture Rose's disappointed frown and cute little deathly serious head-shake if she ever finds out somethin' like that happened. If it happens, which it probably won't. You've had boyfriends before, but the Lalonde family seal of sacred girl-on-girl purity ain't ever got broke yet as far as you know. "Sorry, dude. Ah woulda drove you to, like, a hospital or somethin', but ah figured they ain't gonna know what to do with you anywhere run by humans, and ah wasn't so sure they'd even have any goddamn room for you at the embassy. Ah got shit for that arm, if you want. Not exaaactly as good as like, a doctor or whatevs, but it's better than nothin'."

"God damn it," he says. "Fucking bulge-shitting... fuck." He looks at his arm like he just remembered what happened, eyes going wide in what looks like horror, and he turns his head to glare at you. "Congratulations," he says bitterly. "First human I don't completely fucking hate and you already know about me." His fingers flex and you note the dried blood under the claws on his left hand. "The fuck are you bothering helping somebody like me out for, anyway? What, do you have some disgusting fetish for motherfucking freaks of nature? Because if so, great goddamn work, you landed a grade A genetic aberration tonight. Not that I need to tell _you_ that, you had plenty of time to get a good fucking look, didn't you." The horror's gone, mostly at least, and what's left looks kinda like half shame and half seething hatred.

"Whoa, okay," you say. "Ah have got like, literally no idea what's goin' on here." You have got like, literally no idea what's goin' on here, but it sounds like the kind of thing that's maybe gonna turn a night from decent to really depressing. "For reals, man, what's the issue?" He looks at you like he can't decide if you're full of shit or a complete idiot for a few seconds.

"I seriously can't tell if you're full of shit or a complete fucking idiot," he says. Dang, cold, especially seein' as how you did kinda just like... well, maybe not save his life, but you're pretty sure it was somethin' nice, at least. You take another swig from the bottle you're still holdin' on to and take a moment to savor the burnin'.

"Ah'm pretty sure ah ain't a fuckin' idiot," you say, "and ah ain't full a shit neither, so maybe you could try bein' less of a prick on account a that whole thing where ah kicked a buncha ass to help out _yer_ ungrateful ass." It's subtle but people are sorta what you _do_ so you don't miss the way he pulls back into his shoulders just a tiny bit. "So how's about explainin' just what ah ain't understand before ah tell you to git the fuck outta my place and take a fuckin' cab home?" A flash of anger plays across his face and then he slumps back against the couch and looks down.

"I thought you said you had a goddamn matesprit," he says, "so how do you not understand the fucking hemospectrum?" As he speaks his head shifts and you figure he's lookin' at his arm again.

"Ah said ah had a matesprit. Ah AIN'T remember sayin' ah learned every fuckin' intricacy of a colossal clusterfuck of a caste system based around a complex intersection a alien biology and sociology that're both so tangled to hell 'n back I ain't so sure any a y'all even really know which is which, let alone poor ol' me." Throughout that sentence his eyes slowly widen and watchin' this same old scene playin' out makes you wanna sock him. If you were a little bit more drunk you might do it, even though you know sometimes you ain't exactly got the best grip on how hard you're hittin' and if you accidentally really let loose it might just up and kill him. He opens his mouth to say somethin' but you fix him with a glare of your own and cut him off because you are so through with gettin' this shit from just about everybody who pays enough attention to you to even bother formin' baseless opinions. "Oh, what's wrong, thought ah was just some dumb hick on account a how ah got a thick-ass southern accent and ah ain't talk the way folks think a body got some fuckin' education oughta? Ah guess even aliens gotta be presumptuous shitheads sometimes, why'm ah even surprised." Another draught stokes the pleasant inferno in your mouth, throat, and whole general chest region. Hopefully this'll get less nasty before you really are too drunk to not punch this guy. At least you're an expert on bein' halfway functional even when you're smashed, which is exactly what you're plannin' on bein' as soon as you can manage.

"No, fuck, I didn't mean... how _could_ you be stupid, anyway? I don't know if it's even fucking possible for somebody like you to be anything less than really goddamned intelligent. That's literally basic genetics right there."

"Lost me again, dude. Nothin' you just said made a lick a sense." His brow furrows even further with another dose a pissed off, which is seriously, like, impressive considerin' that part a his anatomy ain't seem to be anythin' but bent 'n glarin' when he's awake.

"I'm not blind, I can see what color your eyes are," he says. You try not to twitch in embarrassment and totally fail. Man, maybe you really should just start wearin' shades everywhere like your dorkass brothers. Dammit, tonight's really startin' to suck! You were all kinds of stoked about meetin' somebody new but lo and behold everythin's already fallin' apart and nothin's makin' sense and of course your fuckin' eyes had to get pulled into it for some fuckin' reason. Makes you wonder about somethin' else you try not to think about, which is how long you got before Meenah does what everybody does to you eventually and ditches your sorry ass, 'cause that's just what folks who get anywhere near Roxy Lalonde end up doin'. You get mercifully tugged outta that line of thought when more words come out of his mouth area. "I saw you fight. You're royalty, that's the only explanation. How the hell else were you beating the shit out of other humans twice your size? You punched a guy so hard he flew through the fucking air and left cracks in a brick wall. Nobody but an heiress could have strength like that with a body your size."

"Uh, what? Royalty? Ah ain't anybody like that. Think the only thing ah'm heiress of is alcoholism." You punctuate this with another swig. You wonder how many shots worth of this stuff you've essentially thrown back by now. Probably more than least a couple and this is pretty good shit so you're startin' to really feel it.

"But, I... your fucking eyes! I know all humans have r-... have red blood but you have all sorts of eye colors and yours are fuchsia and..." He trails off and you realize he's seriously exhausted, and also spectacularly poorly versed in how humans work.

"Nah, dude, ain't work like that. Eyes are just what color they end up bein'. Sometimes has to do with race, but the color def doesn't mean anythin' except what color it is."

"What the fuck? Oh, goddamn..." Reeling a bit, he raises a hand to his head. "My thinkpan is practically juggaloed right now. I've got no clue why I thought... but, still, you, you saw my blood, you know what I am."

"Uh, ain't got a clue why seein' your blood color's an issue. Red's on the spectrum, ah'm pretty sure."

"No, it fucking isn't," he says, and he looks away and there's no fury there anymore, just this really awful look of shame that he's barely even tryin' to hide. You still don't really get what's happenin', _exactly_ , but apparently it's a really big deal to him, and awww shiiiit, what can you even do when somebody all cute 'n shit like him is really hurtin', and this is pretty much really hurtin' territory, you think. "Burgundy. Rust, if you're the typical class snob. That's the bottom. That's not me, you saw that. My blood's _red_ , okay? I'm not even on the spectrum. I'm a mutant. A really fucking heinous mutant, I would've gotten culled as a wriggler if I hadn't been pretty goddamn lucky. I mean, not being on the _spectrum?_ Just my existence itself shits all over the hemospectrum and by extension the genetic integrity of the entire Empire."

Okay, you _still_ don't understand all of it, but it's not hard to get the gist and get how much he's hatin' on himself for it. And you thought your eyes were bad. At least there weren't nobody wantin' to fuckin' murder you just on account of that.

"Hey," you say. "Yo, dude, ah'm sorry ah got so pissed before tryin' to figure out what was goin' on. You know that's all a buncha horseshit, don't you? It ain't nobody's place to be judgin' on you for bein' a little different, let alone, like, murder you and shit." He sort of looks a little better when you say that, but the bulk of the issue's still stickin' to him like glue. And suddenly you remember somethin' that's sooo fuckin' obvious.

You scoot your chair over a bit closer and, although he still won't face you, y'all can kinda still get a good stare goin' on at each other's eyes.

"If somethin' like a color makes somebody get thought of like a freak, then ah'm a freak too. You menshioned somethin' about my eyes, right, well." You reel a bit yourself. That shit is startin' to kick in but good. "Ah ain't got a natural eye color, dude. Humans ain't come in fuchsia. Been gettin' shit about it off 'n on mosta my life. My whole family'sh mutants, ah guess, if you wanna look at it like that, except my brothers wear shades on account a that and my little sis and ah didn't feel like givin' up 'n just hidin' shomethin' so goddamn stupid. Well, my little brother doeshn't have much choice, but still." He stares blankly at you as the words look like they're sinkin' in deep, and then he looks like somebody just stabbed him in the gut and gave him a fuckin' great hug at the same time. "Ah know it ain't the same. Didn't have nobody wantin' me dead for it, you know? Stuff like that don't work quite like that in this solar system. Well, not ushually. But... still, ah feel you, sorta." There's a long silence during which his expression does, like, so many things you can't even keep track. You come pretty close to drinking more and then manage to decide that maybe you shouldn't cross the threshold from drunk to obliterated right now.

"You don't think I'm... that there's anything wrong with me," he says, sounding like he desperately wants to believe something he's having trouble conceiving of.

"Nnnnnope! Why should ah anyhow? Feel like ah remember somethin' about your whole soshiety droppin' that shit on account of the new empress, even."

"Yeah, and she's a psychotic and possibly possessed or angelic hypocrite whose new laws turned my homeworld into even more of a blood-soaked inferno than it already was. Tries to act like she thinks violence and murder are wrong when the first thing she did to announce her ascension was broadcast a feed of herself personally killing a crowd of people in some way nobody even fucking understands or probably ever will." Okay, wow, that's news to you. All official channels ever let slip was that there was a new empress who wanted all the crazy intergalactic warring to not be a thing and was willin' to go a long way to prove it. Somethin' about that last part gives you a thought, though.

"What d'you mean, shome way nobody understands?" You try to say it carefully but booze ain't helpin' you be careful none so who knows how it came out. He cringes and you think it's 'cause of you somehow and then you realize it's freakin' him out just to remember and you feel like an asshole.

"You're not going to believe me," he says,  "but fine. After she killed Her Imp... the... the old Empress, against odds so infini-fucking-tesimal they make my horns look like mountains, she let out a cage full of twenty or twenty five adults she called 'traitors' without explaining what made them traitors at all, although she is the Empress, so it's not like it's anybody else's place to question what she does or why. She was _eight_ back then, she was my age. Not exactly a wriggler but still basically a kid, I guess. And they were _adults_. She's fuchsia, yeah, but... still, so was the old Empress and she was a millenium old psionic warlord. And she let them all at a bigass pile of melee weapons saying she wanted to 'mako it a fair fight' and the second they started for her she just... killed them all, without even getting off the throne. Just opened her palm in their direction and this fucked up green light came flooding out of their eyes and mouths like something out of a daymere and they all died screaming in under a second. Then all of that, that... whatever she took from them, I think she absorbed it, somehow. Some trolls try to explain it as psionics, but there's no psionic I've ever heard of who could do something like _that_ , and it didn't even look like it took her any effort, which rules that out even more, in my opinion."

"Ho-leeee shit," you say, because okay, wow, yep. Blue light's what happens when Janey works her life mojo on somebody, but it sounds awful similar and you're pretty sure you just found out the empress of billions of aliens is a Life aspect, and whatever her title is it ain't nothin' nice or positive if she was usin' it to kill a buncha folks. You've got a sinkin' feeling if you looked hard enough you might find her wanderin' around Derse somewhere, 'cause usually it's nice and happy title and aspect combos that wake up on Prospit.

"I'm full of hoofbeast shit, that's what you're thinking right now, huh. Fucking hilarious, my entire planet got to see that go down on every Imperial broadcast channel and every newsfeed and nobody told the motherfucking humans about any of it." Whoa whoa no, you gotta cut that off real fast. You're maybe salvagin' tonight after all and you ain't gonna let him be stupid all over you.

"No, whoa. Ah believe you, man. Ah... ah'd rather not talk about why that kinda ain't surprise me sho much, ah'm sorry. But that's... if she's like that, to that level... eight shweeps, ain't that like, seventeen or eighteen years old or shomethin' like that?" He shrugs. Guess he ain't paid much attention to humans while he's been here. You're startin' to slur more and more, looks like you drank more than you thought. What a shock, RoLal overshot and got too drunk. That's sure never happened most nights of your teenage and adult life or nothin'. "God, thass way too young to be doin' that much shit on her own..." You look back up from your contemplation and realize that aw fuck, he's all shocked and suspicious on account of you let slip way too much.

"What the fuck do you know and why the _fuck_ do you know it," he says flatly.

"Nothin' but theoriesh, alright? Ah'll... look, maybe if a hunch ah got turns out true ah'll be able to talk about it more. Sorry, dude, it ain't my call to make unless ah know somethin' for certain, and ah ain't know it yet. Ah'd tell you in a second if ah weren't scared it'd put my... my friends and family in sherious danger, for reals." You force your head to not roll a bit, whoops, you are _definitely_ on the edge of smashed and maybe a little bit over the edge if you're bein' honest with yourself, and somehow in the middle of all of this you realize when you were showin' off your eyes you maaabye scooted your chair a lot closer to the couch than you originally meant to. Or could be you've been scootin' it in the meantime and not thinkin' about it.

You feel like he oughta be pissed about all this, especially after the way he just got done sayin' those words 'n shit, but he starts to look sorta... respectful? That ain't the right word, not quite, but you think maybe he understands that sometimes you gotta keep secrets until you're safe to let 'em loose whether you want to or not, and you're bein' as earnest as you can be, 'cause it's how you feel, and it looks like he can tell.

Maybe it's the booze actin', maybe it's 'cause you think 'n feel too damn fast and hard, like goddammit Roxy maybe start tryin' not to get dumbass crushes on folks you've known for all of about ten minutes of actual talkin', and maybe it's 'cause you're about six inches from his face and he's just so damn _cute_ , that mask of _the world's out to get me so I gotta be out to get the world_ that you've seen on other faces, man, for some reason you always go after the cute pissy ones who you can so tell got those squishy candy centers you can lick your way to if you take the time.

Like you were thinkin' before, yeah, maybe you're the hottest haxxor bitch in town and maybe you're a step above bein' even a black belt in more than a couple martial arts and maybe you're somethin' a _liiittle_ bit more special on top of all that, but really, in your life what matters to you is _people_ , and you _know people_ and what you seen ain't some guy who's actually pissed off and pointlessly belligerent, it's somebody precious got broke real hard by a world that ain't fuckin' fair at all, and goddamn do you ever know that feeling. Ain't even matter he's a dude. So Mom and Rosie get all disapprovin' about you 'n boys, who gives a shit, they just gotta accept that you can like eeeeverybody and that's how you are and you can't change it and you don't feel like you got any need to anyhow 'cause really you don't like yourself mostly but this thing _def_ ain't one of the things that's a problem or _anybody_ else's business.

Whatever the reason, after you get done doin' all that drunken thinkin' and when the suspicion settles a bit, the silence starts to change the mood and you see him kinda eyein' you the way you thought he mighta been back at the store. His expression melts a bit into somethin' like weird admiration and it looks like he's finally noticin' how close together the two of you are and he's suddenly got those gorgeous yellow and black red-ringed hellcat eyes _really_ locked with yours, and he's just so strange and semi-secretly sad and goddamn _adorable_ and you're used to being desperate enough for anyone to care about you one way or another that you know damn well what it looks like when somebody thinks you're attractive whether they're human or not, Meenah sure proved you right about that if there was any doubt, so you think maaan, why you gotta pretend you ain't feel what you feel, go ahead and keep tryin' to live a little more while you got the chance, girl, and you give in to an impulse that's not so sudden as you tell yourself it is and has gotta be informed by the booze, okay, wow, how d'you always forget bein' drunk makes you have so many damn feelings, but then again truth is they're always there and would you be expressin' any of 'em sober? Prooobably not.

He opens his mouth to say something, closes it again, and you _know_ what the look on his face means 'cause it's all over your face too and this ain't somethin' he's apparently very good at hidin', and Gills is out for the night and you know she don't care what you get up to with anybody else, the both of you wouldn't have it any other way.

So you think _aw fuck it,_ lean in the rest of the way and just kiss him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roxy you should not make decisions when you're this drunk, dang.


	10. Act 1-4: Where Angels Cease To Tread

_now come one, come all, to this tragic affair_

_wipe off that make-up, what's in is despair_

_so throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot_

_you might wake up and notice you're someone you're not_

[ _my chemical romance - the end._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKNYu3DcWBs)

 

* * *

 

You wake up, and like you do after every period a unconsciousness, you remember that for two sweeps now wakin' life's been more a dream than all of your dreamin'. Too bad it's such a shitty fuckin' dream. Who ever woulda thought you'd feel more worthless and alone playin' first mate to the biggest fish in the galaxy as you did when you were watchin' your moirallegience fall apart and havin' a pissy self-righteous coward ain't even hemotype proper be too cool to hate you no matter what you said to him? Back then you thought you were decomposin' on the floor of the ocean, and then everythin' changed and you realized you were still sinkin', sinkin' deeper and deeper into a trench was way darker than you ever coulda imagined.

But this is the end. You've thought all of this over so many times you can't count 'em all and it's time to toss your whole life overboard. It's a life about as full of power and perks as anybody ain't rulin' an empire ever might have, but you're two sweeps off of bein' an adult. You're old enough now you think you finally get that you'd rather be yourself and be nobody than be one of the biggest somebodies this side of the fourth wall when that somebody ain't really even you at all.

Before that, though, there's some shit to take care of. No yawn this time, no groanin' off the illusion of a hard evenin's awakenin' when there ain't a thing as evenin' where you are right now. Drag yourself outta your recuperacoon, rinse trails a sopor clean under water a nautical mile hotter than any seadweller got a sense a self-preservation ever even think a lettin' touch him, stand naked in front a this mirror you got your claws on recently. You wonder just who in the fuck you're lookin' at and who he's gonna be when you're finally him. Get dressed, slowly, with hollow resentment, stand in front a the mirror again, and take a good long look at exactly who you ain't. He's grand, he's standin' in plated and jeweled robes all made a violet and white and lookin' just as important as damn near everybody on this piece a shit ship thinks he is. You do what you were plannin' on doin' and then rip the robes off with your claws and scatter the shreds wherever you feel like before puttin' on somethin' ain't been worn outside a this block since Ascension Night. A little tight on you now but looks like you ain't one a them gonna grow up all big and strong. Suits you just fine, 'cause small is how you feel and big is what you're more than done playin' at bein'. You don't need a mirror to feel right wearin' a plain shirt and skirt all made a black and more black and a sign you went and had changed just a bit, the kind a clothes meant for the kind a Prince you are instead a the kind a _prince_ everybody thinks you oughta be.

On the way outta your block you stop in the doorway, look back and feel a sad and wonderin' ghostly smile on your face as you idly pick shards a reflective glass from your knuckles and toss 'em at random through the block, hearin' the cracklin' of the furnishin' you finally went and put your fist through as more and more little bits snap and clink off and down. Violet drips from your left hand, slowly pooling on the floor. Violet, the color of nobility. _Nobility_.

You take a look at that noble blood, the color bright against the dull gray sheen a reinforced metal, and you think about somethin' for the thousandth time and about somebody from another life. You look at that floor, at empty liar's gray contrasted with pure and righteous and noble violet, and what you see is simple. You see two sets a frequencies and wavelengths a radiation get picked up on by eyes and crooned over by a buncha brainwashed fools like they're any different in any way means jack shit. Ain't a body there to hear you when you say what you been thinkin' for a goddamn long time, what you came around to feelin' about somethin' had its hooks rippin' you apart for two worthless sweeps and was makin' you a stupid piece a shit your whole life beforehand.

" _Fuck_ nobility," you say to a block you ain't ever gonna revisit, and after lickin' your hand clean you dredge up a thick wad a vaguely hued mucous and spit on the floor before walkin' out and hearin' the hiss a the entrance sealin' itself shut.

The interruption you were waitin' for comes not two fuckin' minutes before you get done walkin' where you gotta go one last time before goin' somewhere more important and doin' what's either gonna be the last thing you ever do wearin' this role was meant for anybody else alive thinks they want it _'good'_ or the last thing you ever do at all.

"Lord Ampora," your clingy fuckin' attendant says. Some dumb fuck thinks kissin' ass gonna get him anywhere with you's how you figure him, 'cause that's how all a them types are. You try rememberin' what's runnin' through those veins under the kinda irritatinly pretty and complicated frilly dress his job requires, and you could not give less a shit about the answer. "I apologize, but your schedule for the cycle has you attending a ceremony with Her Impartial Coordination before --"

"Ain't goin'," you say, and his eyes widen, betrayin' cerulean rings. "Got one last wwitless vvictim can't find a wway outta wwipin' off the face a the galaxy for no good fuckin' reason." He just stares like you said somethin' he can't wrap his thinkpan around. Lotta trolls gonna be feelin' that way within a couple a hours. You notice how he says not one word about your ditchin' your robes and wonder what he's thinkin', not that it matters. Damn near laugh out loud about what all of these trolls you run into gonna think about what you went and did to your sign.

"B-but, my Lord," he says, and you turn again and backhand him across his pathetic snivelin' face. He reels and you watch dispassionately as he shakes his head back into workin' order and tries to wipe his leakin' split lip on the inside a his long sleeve.

"I'm nobody's Lord." Fuckin' dumb shit just goes back to starin'. "You call me anythin' but my goddamn name an I leavve this hallwway wwith nothin' but blood an ashes in my wwake, you get wwhat I'm sayin'?"

"Y-yes, L-... E... Eridan?" That ghost of a smile again showin' up without even askin' your thinkpan if it's got permission. Stupid kid might have a chance after all. A chance at what you ain't got a clue, but it's the truth all the same.

"You got a tough fuckin' gene sac be takin' somethin' like wwhat I just said an actin' on it, Attendant," you say, and a little squeak escapes his vocal chambers as he shrinks back toward the wall in terror. "Ah, fuckin' cut it out already, there evven one a you kids knowws a compliment wwhen it's passin' through his aural canals?" You watch him slowly peel himself away and stand, shaking slightly, darin' to meet your eyes.

"Thank you," he says, and you can see him strugglin' to haul in the courage to say what you were hopin' he was gonna. "E-Eridan."

"Wwelcome," and as you walk away you call back over your shoulder. "Noww stay the fuck outta my wway wwhile I take care a some Imperial business."

He stays the fuck outta your way.

Stalkin' down a corridor that's way too damn long, fuckin' giant flagships, you try to swallow a rush of acid up your digestive chute that feels like bein' cut with a knife. Ain't too much farther, and you just about up and wish it was farther. This is gonna be a gross waste of time and probably a gross waste of a life.

The private dueling block. The last place you wanna sit your sorry ass, right now or mostly ever. You enter a quick sequence of numbers into the intrusion deflection pad and watch as the triple-reinforced door unfurls.

Inside there's a troll about your age waitin' on the challengers' side. You ain't pay her much mind until you've gotten as comfortable as anybody can in a chair made of metal, even one with jewels and gold all over it. Jewels, gold, finery. Fuck but are you ever gettin' tired of fuckin' _finery_. You're takin' all of your rings and shit if this whole thing actually works out, but only so as you can pawn 'em all off later. It ain't like you're exactly tryin' to stay rich or nothin' so much as you want a little extra security in case your ship starts sinkin' once you're outta this shithole.

"Lord Ampora," the challenger says with disgust in her voice. She's a seadweller also of course, got her fins twitchin' in anticipation and what looks like anger. "You come to me bereft of your Imperial robes. Do I not merit even that most basic of courtesies?" Goddammit, you almost thought you could haul this up somehow but now you see she's one of them embraces all that fancy talk and aristocratic crap you're so goddamn tired of dealin' with.

"You ain't merit much a anythin'," you say, "but I got other reasons. Think there's much point in dressin' up like as to play first mate the cycle you're jumpin' ship?" The shock on her face is a fuckin' joy to behold. What's even better is when she notices what you went and did with your wardrobifier is even more of a big deal than the rest of your dressin' like some troll so uncultured as to not belong on this ship at all.

"Jumping ship? Do you mean to imply that you are abandoning your post as personal bodyguard to Her Impartial Coordination? And, if I may be so _bold_ as to ask, precisely what illness of the lobestem has resulted in you wearing your sign in gray?" She's twitchy and furious on account of who knows and who cares how many things. She was obviously like that even before you went and came in dressin' like you meant it as a psychotic insult.

"My sign ain't a thing a your business so how 'bout wwe talk like wwhat's important here and not wwhat's a no consequence," you say. "You're here to kill me and take my _precious_ fuckin' nightmare a job like you think it's somethin' you wwanna havve. I got it about right, girl?" Her claws dig into the thighs of her uniform.

"It is beyond intolerable for an uncultured, rancid fool like you to be given the second most prestigious position in the entirety of the Alternian Empire," she growls. "Our Empress deserves a guardian with both class and skill. You may be a fool, _Lord Ampora_ , but I am assuredly not. I have observed your incompetence for over a sweep, waiting to be of minimum age to remove you from the side of our beloved lady. What sort of bodyguard accompanies his charge _without even wearing his specibus?_ " You stare for a good long few seconds and then just bust up laughin'. She really ain't get it. What a fuckin' shame, except for where it mostly ain't.

"Wwho evver said," you say slowly and casually, "A guy like me needs a specibus to kill any troll stupid enough to get in my wway or threaten _THE MOST POWWERFUL TROLL IN THE GALAXY_ , _WWHO ALSO HAPPENS TO BE MY FUCKIN' MOIRAIL?"_

"You're insane," she says, and when you look her in the eyes and watch a lid twitch and realize she really believes it you break down laughin' all over again. "It will do the Empire unfathomable good to remove you from existence."

"Noww, noww, let's us just hold up a second, alright? Wwhy you gonna bother throwwin' your life awway fightin' a guy ain't givve a shit wwho does the job he ain't evven wwanna do? You ain't wwhat I'd call a _good kid_ or nothin' but wwhat's the point a me killin' your sad meat husk? Think you can keep the wworst moirail an biggest wwhackjob in the fuckin' Empire safe an on track you just go ahead an try it."

"How _dare_ you," she says, and goddamn, you keep on tryin' but none of these fuckin' trolls ever back down or pay a lick of fuckin' mind to what you say. They come in here thinkin' they're gonna get glory and land the most prestigious and unbearable position on the _Coordination_ and it always ends in one more dead troll coulda gone on livin' just a bit longer. You ain't even mad any more. This whole thing's just gotten fuckin' depressing. "Without a specibus? You think to defeat me without even a weapon? To protect our Empress unarmed? Insult and unchecked madness both." She reaches to her waist and activates her specibus, bringin' out a pair of wicked lookin' claw hatchets. Wow, melee weapons, those're just _so_ intimidatin'.

"Remind me wwhen I wwent an said a wword about not havvin' a wweapon?" You reach into a small pocket in your skirt and draw out your wand. She stares again, snorts in disbelief and stands up, twirlin' those axes like she's gonna impress you. Yeah, sure. Keep tellin' yourself that, dead girl walkin', gonna do you no end of favors. "You knoww," you say, wand loose at your left side, "Truth is, much as I think you're a dumbshit fuckin' loser ain't wworth any a my trouble, I don't feel real particular to killin' you right noww. Killed enough trolls like you an it's gettin' real old." You raise your wand and point it off to her side just so. "I'm gonna showw you wwhat powwer it takes to keep that fuckin' Wwitch halfwway sane an you go an decide wwether this is gonna be a fight or not."

Streak of blindin' white you cut loose with ain't half of what you can do but doin' all of what you can do might not leave a wall behind her and the less commotion you fish up this cycle the better. She stands, rigid, blinkin' the pain from eyes that oughta be achin' somethin' fierce right about now, then turns her fool head to see the three foot deep hole in the duelin' block's wall ain't but six inches from her right arm. She looks back to you just standin' all bored holdin' your wand out and when you level it at her chest she flinches somethin' fierce.

"Still wwanna fight me? Or you wwanna just take my shitty fuckin' job for free or maybe do one thing ain't fuckin' stupid in your goddamn life an get the fuck off a this ship before somethin' eats you alivve?"

She stands, still like she's in the eye of a storm and she's too scared to do nothin' but stay where she is, which is pretty damned reasonable in your opinion.

"Don't make me do this, girl," you say. "Wwhat part a this is stupid and you gonna go an die for jack shit are you havvin' trouble parsin'?" Then it happens just like you knew it would and were hopin' it wouldn't, which is to say she gets that self-righteous pride rage and goes screamin' with those damn claw hatchets and runnin' at you like the idiot you took her for at first glance.

The bolt of light that disintegrates her bloodpusher and a third of her thorax don't come from nothin' but stupid, stupid necessity. She lies twichin' on the floor, a few precious seconds left before she blacks out so as she's never gonna wake up again. You walk over to her and kneel as she shakes and spasms, violet blood pourin' out from black lips.

"I'm sorry," you say, and her eyes are pleadin' like she wants this to be a daymere, wants you do to some fuckin' fake-ass magic and take back what she just went and forced you to do to her. "Didn't wwant it goin' down this wway. I ain't so sure wwhere wwe go after this an I didn't like you so much before killin' you, but truth is you still deservved better. See you other side a Skaia, kid." Tears run down her cheeks. She struggles to reach up to you, you ain't really sure why, and then goes slack. You take a few moments kneelin' there as you put your wand away, then pass your fingerpads over her eyes and shut 'em 'cause even fools oughta have some dignity in dyin'. Starin' at the dryin' tears got smeared on you where you touched her, you wipe 'em off just under the bottom of her uniform's top.

Leavin' the block you wonder if you're gonna be the next troll to be lyin' flat on the floor, soul all in darkness, because of what you're gonna say to Fef soon as she's outta that ceremony or whatever. You hope not, but if that's how it goes down, at least in dyin' you'll have done somethin' right in your sad excuse for a life.

The throne block with its ostentatious fuckin' overblown chair is empty. You look at the place to the left of the throne where you spent so much time standin' and lookin' threatenin' while Fef did her Empress thing all talkin' to her subjects and tryin' to figure out how to fix the way she took the homeworld and turned it into hell while she was goin' and makin' peace with all those aliens. Feels like you can do this, you got this, you're ready as you're gonna be, and then half an hour later security doors open and she walks in and all of a sudden you wanna just lie down and cry like a wiggler.

She looks at you, tiara all glitterin', her old clothin' long left behind and replaced by these embellished and shiny robes are even more ridiculous than the Imperial bodyguard outfit you been mostly wearin' for sweeps. It ain't hard to see her puttin' together what's goin' on as she takes in all the details on what you're wearin'.

"Is this reely the choice you want to mako, buoy?" The puns, fuck. After Ascension Night they got so thick and dense that sometimes when she talks she's like a parody of the girl you used to pity, the girl you pity underneath whatever it is she's gone and made herself into.

"I'm done," you say. "Been doin' this for two swweeps. Figured out some things 'bout wwho it is I am, wwhich is sayin' I ain't evven knoww. Can't keep doin' this, playin' like I'm a big shot wway I alwways thought I wwanted to be. Top a the world turned out makes me feel not anythin' but dead inside." She cocks her head to the side and you don't miss the little pulses of green light that occasionally run along her limbs, encircle her head like a grim halo.

"You betta tell me that you've sunk a lot of thought into this, Eridan!" Fuck, she knows what's happenin' and she still sounds so _happy._ "I'm pretty shore I see what you're aboat to ask and it's a long sink from where you're floating right now to where I think you're trying to swim." You look at her dead, bright eyes, those eyes used to make your bloodpusher and stomach get all warm and fluttery, and that's when you start cryin'.

"Miss you," you say, and it's fuckin' hilarious how a guy can go from composed to chokin' on his words in a couple a seconds. "Miss wwho you used to be before wwe wwent an did..." Just the memory still makes you feel sick and lost. "Before the three of us killed her."

"The witch had to go overboard!" She looks at you like she's seriously for real confused about all of this and you gotta choke back more cryin'. Fuck, you want this to be over, dead or alive just let this moment be over. "You know what we did to her was toteely justified. Karcrab would've been proud."

"That wwhat you really think? Think if evven he's still alivve he'd be jumpin' all joyous for the riots on the homewworld, the resources you been throwwin' around wwithout so much a budget to make sure the fuckin' Empire don't drown itself, the millions a trolls wwent an died for evven wworse reasons most trolls get dead for?" Your thorax keeps hitching and you're pretty sure you make a pathetic sight just about now. Least it's a stroke a luck all that black you're wearin' ain't get stained by the thin streams of violet keep landin' on your shirt. "Kar's probably _dead_ already because a wwhat wwe did to that planet just tryin' a implement all a your ideas. You happy 'bout howw one a our best friends just about definitely wwent an got dead because a the wway you ain't think this shit through any further than the kill?" And then her eyes change and you realize it was a good try but this is where you die after all. Gonna be meetin' that girl you killed real soon if there really is a place for souls to settle. You look where fuchsia rings around her pupils just went black, not black like as a troll's eyes supposed to be but darker, deeper, like lookin' at space but without so much as one star in its lightless infinity.

"Karkat Vantas lives," it says. "Tracking the mote of dust that is his so-called life is a term clearly stated in the contract. One quarter of one of your infinitesimal 'sweeps' ago, he and the other mote bearing the label Kanaya Maryam became 'volunteers' and were shuttled to the Sol system." The thing wearin' her takes a few steps closer and your skin crawls, gills itch, fins flare outta instinct. "It has been requested by the vessel that control is to be returned. According to the contract, temporary withdrawal will now take place."

She shakes her head, looks at you with eyes all royal fuchsia again and smiles.

"Ain't knoww if you're gonna kill me or let me go," you say, and she just keeps on smilin'. "But simple fact is wwe ain't... I can't... This is it for us."

"You're breaking up with me," she says calmly. The smile is a little smaller, but it just won't fuckin' go away. You pull yourself together much as you can manage and hold back more tears to try and get through this with some self-respect.

"Yeah," you say, and that one word makes you wanna vomit, makes everythin' hurt even worse you thought it would. Thought all that thinkin' would prepare you, guess that kid you killed was right and you really are a fool. "Girl I pitied ain't here any more an you knoww it wwell as I do." You suck in a breath and when misjudgin' on account of what your thinkpan's like right now pushes some dry air out your gills you clench your fangs and ignore the pain.

"I'm standing right here, Eridan," says not Feferi Peixes but this thing what calls itself Her Impartial Coordination. "Sea me? Reel as the night I hatched." She reaches out to touch you, you take a step back, and for the first time somethin' like sadness shows on her face. You wish it fuckin' wouldn't.

"Yeah, you are. But my Fef, she died two swweeps ago. I'll pity her the rest a my life, howwevver short you choose an make it, but she ain't alivve and I ain't wwaste any more a myself pretendin' a damn thing." You sniffle and close your eyes for a second to keep under control, anythin' to keep under control. "Got one request a you. I wwanna be one a your vvolunteers. I wwant off a this fuckin' ship an outta Alternian space. Time I livved like anybody else."

"They'll hate you," she says. "They'll be sharks circling and if you swim the littlest bit too slow, you'll be nothing but chum. The humans, they're not what you think. They krill each other, they hate each other, they discriminate, and they'll krill you even faster. They'll hook you and drag you onto land and watch you suffocate."

"Then they hate me an I get to be hated for wwho I really am an not hated for bein' _important_ ," you say. "So kill me noww or get me a shuttle ready."

"And where exactly do you want to swim now, Eridan Ampora? F-eel free to choose." Is she fuckin' with you or are you really leavin' this ship alive? You already got the answer to what she's askin' but you take a few seconds think it over anyway.

"Earth," you say. "I'm goin' to alien territory, wwhy not go an see their owwn homewworld's howw I see it." There's a silence goes on so much longer than anythin' what you want it to.

"Go to the shutteel bay," she says quietly. "By the time you're there the ship will be ready for you." You just look her in those beautiful eyes, nod, turn and start walkin' out the room before she gets a chance to change her mind on you and leave you bleedin' to death with three holes in your abdomen.

"Goodbye, Eridan," she says, and you shudder at all the things you're feelin' ain't even know how to name any more. Do you say somethin'? She gonna kill you for a wrong word? Fuck it, you just say what you're thinkin'.

"Goodbye, Empress."

The shuttle's small but ain't need to be big to hold what little it is you really own. Not much more than automated piloting systems and a couple small blocks to hang around in. You do what little explorin' there is to do, findin' some books to read and some games to fuck with, thank fuck, you know this trip gonna take a couple a perigees and you ain't keen on goin' nuts from isolation and boredom. You been goin' nuts from a different sort of isolation already.

There's some cushions on the floor in the respiteblock near its recuperacoon, all proper and such as it'd be if you were in a real hive. You get comfortable, open one of the books you brought in, then close it and set it on the floor.

Pale for a dead girl ain't know how to stop walkin', you are. Just a seadweller headed for a place ain't like any one you ever seen, some fancy shit to sell and one hell of a statement on your shirt, that gray sign darin' anybody go ahead and ask if they wanna know so bad. You look down at your left hand, spread two shakin' fingers to see half a broken diamond won't ever be whole again. The 4W drive smashes a hole through reality and there's no turnin' back now even if you wanted.

You slump over, curl up on those cushions and sob for a long, long time.


	11. Act 1-5: You Sure You're Okay, Dude?

_when the sky fills up with clouds and it looks like rain, i can't complain_

_and i'm sorry the things i touch, i always damage,_

_and i'm sorry i always act like i can't manage_

_to stop the fuckers chewing through the fabric_

_they're gonna do me in_

[bomb the music industry - can't complain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tym35U-zEjA) 

 

* * *

 

If anybody'd had the decency to tell you your first kiss was going to be with a fucking alien, maybe you would've had the drive to get your shit together sooner, actually taken a little bit of initiative with the one person who could ever possibly have filled your flushed quadrant before it was way too late. Too bad nobody had that fucking decency. 'First kiss stolen by inebriated mammal' was really not high on your list of goddamned aspirations in life; as a matter of fact it wasn't on that depressingly short list at all, not even after you got to this ridiculous planet. Hell, even _less_ so once you got here.

This should all just be another disaster you'll go pathetically cry about to Kanaya whenever you somehow get back to the hive, to write down on the more important mental list you're always keeping, the infinitely growing one that records every single shitty thing that happens and has ever happened in your idiotic life, every last pointless indignity. This should be just one more time Karkat Vantas was a fuckass and got something precious stolen from him as a well-deserved punishment for letting himself forget that the only person in any galaxy worth trusting is his moirail.

And you're sure it would be all of those things if it wasn't what it actually is, which is, against any conceivable fucking logic, completely goddamned fantastic. She doesn't screw around for long, spends a few bloodpusher-pounding moments with cool, too-soft pink lips pressed against your tougher black ones and... shit, what're you supposed to do in this kind of situation? You're wracking your shorted-out thinkpan for guidance when she correctly interprets your lack of violent response as consent and suddenly a broad and cold alien tongue presses its way into your mouth. Damn, either your idea of normal is totally skewed, aliens are really weird, or this girl is fucking aggressive. Shit, who are you kidding, it's probably all three.

You think you can actually feel her struggling against the soporifics in her system in order to maintain some kind of technique or something and despite how wrecked she was starting to look and sound, in your opinion she's, well. She's really pulling it off, that's for fucking sure. Your tongue automatically brushes back against hers, even if it's sort of hesitant, and it's _so weird_ because hers is at least twice as wide as yours and definitely not nearly as long and shouldn't that freak you out? Except it's not like you've kissed anybody before, troll or alien, so you don't really have any basis for comparison. Maybe the most surprising thing apart from how fucking sexy this whole thing's become is the temperature difference. You didn't think mammals ever ran cold, so are you running hot right now? Why, though, and how have you managed to live to be ten sweeps old without managing to figure out what controls that shit?

Thinking about your body temperature and by extension your blood almost kills the mood. Then she pulls her tongue back to bite your bottom lip and the sudden sourceless roar in your aural canals and flaring heat behind your bone sheath almost drown out the helpless and embarrassing moan that comes up from some place deep inside of your abdomen. Fuck, that's right, they have _teeth_ and not fangs, and that means she can bite you without risking any crossover into black concupiscent territory. That's _really_ goddamned hot, not to mention something you'd never really thought about before. You can feel the force in her jaws, that she's biting hard and that she could bite a _fuck_ of a lot harder if she wanted to, probably more than enough to break skin if she felt like it, even without proper fangs. You're trying to keep up by at least maintaining constant friction between her really rough tongue and your smoother one, which is still a bizarre feeling composed of equal parts _super weird_ and _super awesome_ when you remember something really, really, _really_ important that sends a nasty shock through your whole spinal column.

You pull back and manage to crush the urge to shove her off of you. She stares in confusion and worry as you stare in confusion and fucking disgust.

"You said you had a goddamn matesprit," you say. "So why the fuck exactly are you dragging me into some kind of gross flushed affair? What the hell is wrong with your thinkpan? I'm not going to be a part of any goddamned infidelity." Now you're glaring at her and your fingers are curling into a raking form out of instinct. She looks shocked, like it didn't occur to her at all what she was doing. Then something apparently clicks in her diseased head and she smiles.

"No, hey, it'sh not like tha, she ain't care what ah get up to and ah ain't care bout her shit neither. That'sh just how we shet things up. Don't think either of ush could handle bein', flushed ah guess, with jusht one pers'n. That'sh jus not... ah don't git it, y'know? Limitin' yourshelf like that." Now you have no idea what to think. This should reek of total chargebeast shit, except that it doesn't. She's just so fucking _earnest_ about it; your gut says she's serious even if the concept is ridiculously alien, metaphorically and literally. You're not even sure if she's sober enough to lie, anyway. You slowly let yourself relax, and then maybe it's just your desperation and dehydroepiandrosterone levels ramping up as you rack up the days without release, but you make a choice.

"I'm gonna trust you, alright? Maybe I'm a fucking idiot for it but there you go. But if I find out later that you're lying..." You pause, because what _are_ you going to do if she's lying? "Okay, I don't know what I'll do, but I'll at least be telling your goddamn matesprit. And this isn't... this isn't a romantic thing, okay? It's just... Whatever it is. Goddammit, my thinkpan isn't really..." _cooperating_ , you think, and then you discover that your body's moving on its own and you're kissing her completely of your own initiative. Oh, _fuck_ , that's different. You try not to get your tongue in too deep because that could just go really badly for everybody involved. The usual troll thing, which is more about tangling, is not going to work right here, but you try anyway, wrapping partway around that rough and dizzingly stimulating top surface. She makes some kind of noise, it sounds like a good noise but then she pulls back again and you unwind your tongue before you get hurt.

"B-bite me?", she asks, and oh. Okay. Yep. You are officially approaching a pants-related issue, bone sheath not quite open but working its way there enough for your bulge's tip to rub against your underwear. Oh, fuck, _fuck_.

"It's gonna, uh, it's gonna break skin, and that can sometimes be a black concupiscent thing, and are humans even..." Holy shit, please let her be okay with this. She reaches out and runs her fingers through your hair, dangerously close to red-band horn territory, not like you've got much else other than the tips with your absolute joke of a 'rack.' Fuck, she knows what she's doing, she's got a matesprit, her body is mostly a mystery to you, especially the part where she has thoracic mounds despite being female, although at least they're nowhere near as ridiculously huge as what you see on a lot of human females which makes you feel kind of less weirded out. You don't even know what's in her pants but she knows just about everything about you, or at least she knows a lot about your species.

" _Please_ ," she says, and your thinkpan shuts off and instinct takes right the fuck over. When your fangs pierce her bottom lip and you taste strange but perfectly sexy alien blood, she _moans_ and her whole body shudders. Holy _shit_. Apparently romcoms are really bad at conveying actual lust and romance novels actually aren't full of nothing but complete hyperbole, because you are _messed up_ right now in the best way even though you're making out with a human. Which is... well, it's really weird, but it's also not as weird as you thought it might be, at least so far. So far? Where is this going, anyway?

The tongues thing continues to be intense, maybe even moreso than before. How and why is this alien so badass and gorgeous? More importantly, why in Derse's anguished fucking core is she _attracted to you?_ Nope, wait, that doesn't matter, because all of a sudden she's taken one of your hands in hers and, what is she doing, actually? Your palm and fingerpads encounter something soft and malleable under the fabric of her shirt, which is thinner than it looked, and when you look down she's put one of your hands on her right thoracic mound, and upon noticing that you have no idea what these are for on humans she squeezes your hand, not hard, but enough to give you the general idea that kneading at them without being too rough is a good idea. She lets out a long sigh and then something small on her mound is sticking out and stiff against your palm even through the fabric and you have no idea what that means but she moves your hand again and when you stroke the little bump she shivers and lets out little noises, then backs up again, damn, you'd never really thought about how much movement and rearranging would be involved in actually being sexual with someone.

Then all in one smooth motion she grabs her shirt from the bottom where it almost reaches her jeans, pulls it up and off, and tosses it in a random direction, swaying a bit, still obviously inebriated. Well, now you know more about human thoracic mounds, maybe, because hers are fuller than yours and a little bit pointy, and those points have these round circles of darker pink with little nubs in the center of each... wait, whoa, humans are _mammals_ , you'd totally forgotten that again somehow, and that means those are _nipples_. Half of you wants to go throw up because _nipples_ what the _fuck_ and the other half is completely transfixed. The latter half quickly starts overpowering the former and you're starting to wonder if you have some sort of xeno fetish because it doesn't make sense for you to find a weird mammal's thoracic mounds and nipples pretty and alluring and yet here you are, finding them to be exactly fucking that. She looks back down at you, still a bit above because her chair's a bit higher up than the boxed-in cushion thing you're sitting on, and when she sees that you're still down for... you're not sure how far this is going, but you think it's at an okay place for now, when she sees that her smile turns more lustful and sultry. Sultry, fucking shit, you've never even seen or heard that word outside of romance novels and this is definitely the first time you accidentally thought it in relation to another person.

When your fingerpads find her bare flesh it's... something else, that's for sure. She's so much _softer_ than a troll even though you already know how tough she is in other ways. She's got some weird indentation on her abdomen that's probably supposed to be there and no sign of ecdysial scars, which makes sense because she's a mammal, god, why are you such an idiot, but you do notice a couple of other scars, like battle scars, actually a lot of them, at least six or seven, and they're noticeable enough to either be recent or the result of pretty serious injuries. Those scars, well, if you weren't already seriously, weirdly attracted to her, those'd do it for you.

You forget about the scars when your fingerpad brushes a nipple and you can actually _feel it get stiffer under your touch_. Apparently these are weak spots either for humans in general or just for her because once you're hesitantly stroking and tweaking them both at once her eyes are shut, hips bucking for some reason you can't fathom, not even bothering to be quiet, damn, you're pretty sure that after that last weird orgasm you won the galaxy-wide award for loudest noise made while pailing, but unless she's about to start spurting something, which you doubt is going to happen this quickly, the level of volume her slightly odd noises of pleasure are at could indicate that her actually getting off would create a sonic boom and blow out every pane of glass within a league.

After a bit of this she relocates onto the couch next to you, which is a little bit awkward positioning-wise at first but ends up working out because it opens up a wonderful world in which you can be making out with her while she moans into your mouth. Fucking... _damn._ Your bulge is starting to strain almost painfully against your underwear and somewhere in your foggy thinkpan you wonder again how far this is going to go, how far you want it to go. Then you hear a zipping noise and realize that she's about to take off her jeans. Okay! That sure answers the question of how far _she_ wants this thing to go, at least. This would be a fantastic time to have any knowledge of human sexual anatomy whatsoever, probably. You take a moment to look down and see that she's wiggled her jeans down far enough to show her underwear, which is strikingly male, all lacy and tight and lightish purple, and this confuses the shit out of you until you remember what planet you're on.

Then she takes one of your hands and presses it against her panties.

You have got no idea what's going on under that silky material, no, silky isn't the right word because this has too much soft mixed in with the smooth and actual silk has the shittiest texture in your opinion, okay, tangent, keep your head in the game, man. So you just kind of experiment and feel around and still honestly have no idea what you're actually feeling under that fabric but when your fingers press where her bone sheath would be if she wasn't an alien, it's kind of soft and damp and her pelvis thrusts forward to press back against your fingerpads while she lets a long, low moan escape her mouth she bites your lip again except this time you're not sure if she's even doing it on purpose which is _fuck-all_ sexy, and also this time she bites _hard_ and then you're both moaning at the same time and some part of you feels like this whole thing is really kind of inherently silly but the rest of you just could not give less of a shit about how pailing feels kind of awkward when you're actually doing it and not just imagining it or watching perforatorformers doing painfully hot things to each other on a husktop screen with your hand down your pants.

Speaking of hands and pants there's no sign yet of her bulge doing anything and you're torn between being worried something's wrong and worried human sexual organs might be even weirder than the possibilities you've vaguely thought of recently. Her underwear does seem to be getting steadily more saturated with fluid, especially around one spot that's roughly where her nook ought to be so at least that makes sense, but there's also no sign of red around her crotch whatsoever and what the fuck is up with that?

In the midst of this cyclone of thoughts and feelings, one new feeling stands out, and that's her hand moving up your thigh and then _starting to slip up under your shirt oh fuck oh fuck no no fuck no fuck oh shit_ and when you stiffen completely, stop touching her dampened whatever-the-fuck and grab her arm to pointlessly try to keep it from doing that as primal terror floods your lobestem and your bulge slithers rapidly back inside, she just stares, almost as still as you apart swaying a little from intoxication and her hips continuing to move a little bit in a way that makes you think it's probably involuntary but that's really not the point here the point is _please don't oh fuck oh god please no_ and it's not until her eyes widen and worry plasters itself all over her face that you realize that last round of negative thoughts actually escaped your squawk gaper.

"Whohh, holy shit, what happen'd jus' now?" She looks almost as worried as you are terrified. "Ah'm sorry, ah don't know what wen' wrong there, shit." An inconceivable thought strikes you a bit late.

"You're... are you stopping? Because I, I asked you to?" Something weird goes on with her eyes like she's confused. "I mean you're, you're a female and you're strong as fucking royalty so it's, it's not like you have to listen to me."

Her hand, which was still sort of frozen with her fingers just under the bottom of your shirt, goes sort of limp, and when you hesitantly let go of it she pulls it away.

"Oh _gawd_ ," she says, and now it's less worry in her eyes and more horror. "Ish it... is it really that bad on, where uh, on your planet? Ah heard things, but..."

"I really have no goddamned idea what you're talking about."

"Ah mean ish it considered fuckin' normal for shomebody to jus'... do whuhever they wan' on account of bein' _technic'ly able to_?" You just stare for a while and wonder how many things about human society you really should have bothered learning about right when you got here, let alone after a quarter of a sweep.

"Well, yeah, I mean, that's just how shit works, isn't it? If you're strong enough you take whatever the fuck you want, and if you're a _female_ and you want something from a _male_ then that's just like, I don't know, extra normal, I guess."

It actually looks like she's going to cry for some reason. Okay, tonight is officially the second weirdest night of your life, pushing the whole 'almost died from a sexual disorder' incident down to third place.

"B-but, no, that'sh... has somebody... hash anybody d-done thah to... _you?_ Ah mean, ah, you don't gotta talk about..." and she just trails off and squeezes her eyelids shut hard and then opens them again. Okay, so if that's anything like troll behavior, she's definitely trying not to cry. You're still not entirely sure what her deal is.

"No, well, I mean, nobody succeeded? My moirail, back when we were five, she killed a girl who really wanted to know what mutant slurry looked like I guess, and somebody else said she would've wanted to if I _wasn't_ a mutant and she was about to kill me but as usual my moirail showed up with perfect timing so I threw a sickle into the bitch's back and Kanaya cut her in half with her rip-engine. That was Ascension Night, actually, at the start of the first wave of culling riots."

The look on her face is pretty much indescribable. She looks over at the bottle she'd been drinking from like she wants nothing more than to just chug the whole thing.

"Ah think maybe... we should stop, here. Maybe if you wanna, like, well, look, ah'll just give you my number? Oh gawd ah sound like a total idiot, don' ah."

"What? No, you don't sound like a fucking idiot. And I mean, I don't... we don't have to stop, I'm okay, really, I just, I can't handle, with the thorax and all, the shirt's gotta stay on and..." Now it's you who's trailing off, and _you_ definitely sound like a complete idiot.

"You _sure_ you're okay, dude?"

And that's when, completely predictably and to your complete surprise, you start to cry.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night is sort of a blur. She's way too intoxicated to use her vehicle to get you back home and it turns out to be way too far to walk, so she goes to call some service for ferrying people around when they don't have any other means of accessing weirdly designed land vehicles, and then you realize you are the worst imbecile in the history of colossal imbeciles because you actually forgot your comm unit at your hive, and _then_ you realize you're an even _worse_ imbecile because you can't even remember your own hive's coordinates. Fortunately they turn out to be recorded on the laminated identification card you're mandated by law to keep with you at all times. She writes down some numbers and tells you to call her some time if you want and just as you're about to leave you realize that, holy shit, _both_ of you are in fact complete fucking imbeciles because you never even asked her for her name and she never even thought to give it to you.

You get into the paid service vehicle, a hand in one pocket holding on tight to a slip of paper with her comm unit's frequency access code and the name _Roxy_ scribbled underneath. There's a little heart drawn there instead of that one circular Sol-Common letter and you'd be freaked out about it if she hadn't noticed you starting to freak out about it in time to explain that the symbol doesn't always mean the same thing to humans as it does to trolls.

 _Finally_ you stumble into your hive, Kanaya rage-hugging you immediately because she's caught between fury at your making her worry so much and relief that you're still alive, and while you've now obtained the thing you think will help you actually get off when you need to, any interest in trying it out is completely dead, at least for tonight. You pop a sopor tablet and curl up in bed, hugging a pillow, and your dreams are lightless and confusing but there are voices out there in the dark, voices you can almost recognize, and somehow in spite of everything that happened tonight, you actually get a decent bit of rest.

 

* * *

 

When you get back to your hive you find a tidally drunk matesprit half passed out on the conch in nothin' but her prawnties. Talk aboat a catch, she so damn cute sometimes you don't know what the shell to do with your thinkpan just lookin' at her. The sound of the door closin' wakes her up some and she smiles and almast pulls off sittin' up.

"Heeeyyy, yer home late, fishy," she slurs, lookin' you over with bleary eyes whale you look her over with a tuna bit more sobrinety. "Git over here, been mishin' you." You roll your eyes, land your ass on the conch and lean over, gettin' a closer look at all of that shipwrecked prettiness.

"Gill, you all _kinds_ of cray fucked up tonight," you say, and she giggles. When you flick your fingerpad over a nipple she whines in a needy way that says clear as freshwater she been holdin' off on takin' care of herself whale you were out. You can already feel your bulge gettin' ready to set sail and you can think of betta spots for your hand to be than anywhere on her thorax. Her nook is all kinds of ready 'cause she damn near gushes when you get your hand under those cute prawnties and fold two fingers in and the insides clam down like they tryin' to crush your bones. You brush your thumb over her little nubby thing and grin when she spreads her legs wider and starts moanin' sexy sweet nothins at you.

By the time you got your clothes off she lookin' a shell of a lot more awake. A minnowet later you wonder for a secod why she grippin' you so much harder than usual when you get her all up against the wall how she likes it, bulge sunk in deep as you can manage and loopin' back around itself inside her, draggin' your fangs across her neck while she shriekin' like always, and you decide reel quick that after you both done gettin' fluids all over the carp-et you gonna ask her what she got up to whale you were busy 'cause you know she cool with this right now but somefin went reel weird tonight and she betta tell you all aboat it 'cause what's not cool with you is lettin' your gill keep all her shit locked up where you can't find it.

Later, all twisted up together in bed, you aboat to ask what her deal is, but then you reelalize she just went and passed right out. It's too bad she always floatin' around in the void 'cause you didn't say it but you been missin' her reel bad too and you don't reely want to wait until mornin' to talk to her again.

Nothin' to be done aboat that though, so now she's not awake to notice, you run fingers through her tangly hair and kiss her forehead all embarrassin' and tender before driftin' off to Derse to see what the shell all them other dumb fucks are up to now.


	12. Act 1-6: Shining Skies, Knives In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter here!

_they've shown this on both screens_

_team, teeming with things you can find in the dark_

_dust in the light falling through, day after night_

_falling with you, photos of you_

[ _the new pornographers - twin cinema_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uu1H1ywOSvk)

 

* * *

 

 **i  **i

Light that instinct tells you should be blistering your skin and burning out your sight pours over everything around you, glaring and glittering across the rich gold of, well, pretty much fucking everything. Even the streets here are literally paved with gold and the ridiculousness of this whole moon is permanently irritating. On the bright side, eheh, being royalty is pretty cool. You didn't need millions of aliens with exoskeletons telling you how awesome you are pretty much every sleep cycle to know how awesome you are, but you're not gonna complain. It'd be cool if AA could see this place, you've found a few places that'd make for pretty fucking awesome dates, but that's life for you, you guess. Maybe if you ever figure out where the hell these planets are you can find some way to bring her here, that'd be awesome. There must be some way to figure out the coordinates but nothing you've heard or hacked has really helped, at least not yet. Her last message made you miss her like they always do but she's doing great, still defiling ancient ruins and piecing together Alternian history one skull or forgotten language at a time and not loving it any less than she ever did.

i **i**

The streets are as dark as ever, purple on purple with Skaia's light barely reaching. It's comfortable, you guess, but sometimes it's almost as hard to see as it was during dark seasons on Alternia and every time you remember home, you remember that your waking body's on a ship that's just about as boring as you'd hoped it wouldn't be and the loneliness rises up again. You wish Aradia was here, but wherever she goes when she sleeps now, it's sure as fuck nowhere you've ever been, even if the messages that eventually make their way to you through various fleet relays make her sound cheerful about the whole thing, even the _really_ shitty parts. It's kind of crazy how fast she got over what happened considering you haven't been able to go more than about two hours without it creeping up in the back of your mind, and really you've never stopped being afraid that she's just lying. You have no clue how she kept on being your matesprit after what you did and even though she says she doesn't blame you or even really care that it happened, it's still a needle in your bloodpusher that hasn't come close to working its way out.

 **i** i

From the window of your tower you can see a lot more of Prospit's moon than usual, and goddamn, it's not like yellow or gold are really your favorite colors but _shit_ , what kind of asshole could look at all of this and not be a little bit awed? Even the most humble dwelling looks like it could belong to the Empress herself, especially since she actually uses real gold for things, unlike her predecessor; Imperial crap is still gaudy as all hell but at least it's honest about what it is. Taller buildings rise toward Prospit itself, and you're a little down about not getting a look at Skaia tonight but hey, it's not like there's much to bitch about with that bristling regal colossus filling the sky. Moonward again, you can actually see one or two other dreamers' towers, one that you could never get near for some reason, the streets seeming to mysteriously lead you in other directions no matter how hard you tried, and the other...

Your claws scrape deep furrows in your windowsill just thinking about _that_ tower and how long you've been waiting to unleash the power you've been building over the last four sweeps, raze the thing to the ground and see how _spiders_ like being burned alive and crushed under thousands of pounds of fucking rubble, although with the psionic juice you've got at your disposal now there might not even be a body to crush. She's gonna hurt someone again one of these days and the second she does the rules won't mean shit any more and she'll find out what Sollux Captor is really capable of. No, whoa, this is going somewhere unpleasant. You take a deep breath and look around again to distract yourself.

Wait, something's different than usual. The second tower, the one you couldn't get close to... its windows are open for the first time ever.

Well, you know where you're headed this sleep cycle.

i ** i**

Fuck, you're so done thinking about that right now. She's alive, that's what matters, right? Or, it... it helps. Are you an asshole for feeling so terrible about this even when it sort of turned out okay in the end? Even though there's literally no reason to feel like this, part of you still thinks that she never came back that night. Hell, part of you thinks you lost what was left of your mind what you've convinced yourself was four sweeps ago and everything since has been one long, complicated hallucination. Whatever the deal is, it doesn't matter even if she actually really doesn't blame you, because she really, really should. Maybe that's sort of okay, though, because you're fine with taking on two trolls' worth of blame. It's seriously only fair.

You're done with this shit, this train of thought is getting you nowhere, so you try to go back to window gazing instead of remembering holding your matesprit's scorched, broken, and blood-soaked corpse in your arms while trying to decide how you should kill yourself with your own psionics as some sort of useless penitence. Wow, that attempt at not thinking about this shit sure went well. You gaze down at the streets below and at the towers in the distance, one of which was... was hers and probably still would be if a certain Sollux Captor had managed to die sooner or been born a caste that was immune to spiderbitches. The other hero's home that's in view has been open for a long time even though you've never met its owner, which is weird, but there are a hell of a lot of towers around here and even though all of them opened up a long time ago you still have no idea who dreams in some of them.

Wait, something weird is down there. There's a dreamer on the streets, and he's... shit, there's no mistaking those horns, even from a distance. Was that his tower all this time? Where has he been?

Well, you know where you're headed this sleep cycle.

 **i** i

Okay, when the windows opened, signifying that the dreamer in that tower's _finally_ woken up, you figured that would mean you could actually get there this time. You figured completely wrong. You find a street that you can clearly see leading to the door at the base and at some point while you're a little distracted thinking to yourself, the street is abruptly and impossibly circling the place from a few hundred feet away, which is actually farther from the tower than you were before it changed. Every attempt to get there is baffled somehow in ways that are increasingly illogical and equal parts infuriating and exciting. Okay, maybe it's more exciting, because it's actually a challenge and fuck have you missed those. You're almost getting ready to take a break or maybe give up for the time being when you suddenly realize _hey why am I screwing around with this entry level shit, I am a HACKER_ , so you think for a few seconds and then you fucking _hack_.

Self-applied telekinesis makes the issue of impossibly winding streets completely meaningless and you throw yourself with maybe a little too much force in the direction of one of the open windows. You're gonna feel like a prick when you land inside and fuck everything up, especially if someone's in there right now, but you can't just back down from a challenge like this, and you're closing in now, closer than you've ever been before, you're like twenty feet away now and both smug about beating the system and a little disappointed that it was so easy when the tower just... isn't there any more. A shocked glance over your shoulder reveals that it is in fact _behind_ you and when you remember you're still hurtling forward at extreme velocity you also notice that you're about to smash into one of the taller non-dreamer buildings in the area. Metaphorically slamming on the skid mechanism of your own energy helps but there's nowhere near enough time to avoid the collision. This is gonna hurt. Actually, this might just kill you.

And then suddenly the building isn't there any more and you're... back in the tower's direction, actually, and you just barely manage to slow down enough that instead of blasting in the window and splattering against something inside, you're able to sort of tuck into a loose and painful roll and collapse on the floor, oxygen processing organs thrown out of whack by a flood of epinephrine, thorax heaving while you gasp to catch your breath, staring at a golden ceiling. You slowly calm down, get your breathing and bloodpusher under a control a little, look around the room and are sort of disappointed at how empty it is and that there isn't anybody in here, shut your eyes for a second to work on chilling out a bit more, and then almost evacuate your wastechute when a perky but somehow stern female voice invades your aural canals.

"Hey! First things first, are you okay?" Sitting up, you see an alien guy... no, wait, they're all crossdressers or something, so an alien girl, then, well, that'd make sense with the voice even if it's all weird and... smoothed out like that guy who showed up after the last time you ran into VK, sitting in a chair that you definitely know was not there before, only a couple of feet in front of you. When you just stare with your mouth slightly open, she taps her foot impatiently on the floor. "I said, 'are you okay?' You could have died, you know!"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, jutht... what the fuck?" She blinks at you, looking mildly confused, and you roll your eyes. "That'th your firtht quethtion?"

"Of course it is! Don't you think that's a little bit more important than anything else right now?"

"Uh, no, not really, but... thankth?"

"You're welcome. Now could you tell me why you almost killed yourself trying to break into my dream-house?" That last word doesn't parse but from context it probably means something like hive, or maybe just tower. You think for a second because she does kind of deserve an honest answer.

"I wath really curiouth why I couldn't get here before and I gueth I thought I might learn thomething interethting," you say. "Pluth I've been bored ath shit and it wath actually thomething to do that wathn't tho eathy it wath boring." That was almost definitely not a good answer to give even if it's pretty much the truth, but that's okay. You did kind of try to bust into her tower without asking.

She giggles and you see that above a golden dress and below bright green eyes she's beaming so thoroughly you're halfway surprised her expression doesn't literally generate light. You try not to grin sheepishly back and fail because you're pretty sure you just met someone who could actually be fun to know.

Looks like this cycle might be even better than you hoped.

i **i**

You sort of stalk him for a while and hope he doesn't notice, although of course he's gonna notice, you're worthless at everything else so why the fuck would you be any good at staying hidden? It's him, though, not a doubt in your mind, those horns are bigger now but there's no mistaking their jagged lightning shapes. Of course he's a fucking dreamer, why are you even surprised? You just wonder what his title and aspect are and how much fucking trouble he's gonna cause with them now that he's actually showing himself after all this time.

"You ain't doin much a job a tailin' me an I'm wworn out on fuckin' subtlety an tricky hoofbeastshit so howw 'bout you just givve it up?" Yeah, that's about what you thought. Shit at everything. Well, maybe you can be a little bit less shit and get some goddamned answers.

"Fine, thorry for being wary of the Empreth'th dithappearing moirail, it'th not like it'th been two thweepth thinthe anybody thaw you or heard from you or anything. You know, anybody like your fucking hatefriendth who thought maybe you were _dead_ , athhole."

"Wwoww, all a my deepest fuckin' apologies for havvin' to be anchored with a goddamn Empress an tryin' as to pap a psychotic fuchsiablood into steerin' her owwn species outta evven wworse shitstorms like there used to be. I'm emptyin' my anguish bladders wwith guilt ovver stickin' to a plan wwoulda got me killed to talk about or do a goddamn thing wwasn't focused on stayin' the fuck alivve."

"You thtupid nookthtain, I thwear by Thkaia I am gonna claw your eyeth out for putting uth through all of the shit you did! Jutht cauthe I _hate_ your thupid arithtocrat ath doethn't mean I want you dithappeared or dead--"

That's when he punches you in the face hard enough to scrape cheek on fang and draw blood. When you twist your head back around he looks like he's about to explode with a level of fury you never thought a pathetic failure of a troll like him could manage.

"Shut the _fuck_ up about blood," he says, and before you can respond he punches you again and leaves your thinkpan dizzied and your aural canals ringing a bit. "You thinkin' I spent twwo swweeps bein' all as happy wwith some privvileged wwonderous life an drowwnin' gladly on that fuckin' flagship? Sol, you say shit about blood an I'll showw you goddamn _hell_ 'fore I bother like to bloww your thinkpan out through the back a your disgustin' face."

You just sort of stare because what the hell is he _talking_ about? And since when did he decide to stop your ridiculous game of avoiding ever saying each others' names in any context whatsoever? All you can think is _two sweeps, two FUCKING sweeps_ of having no idea where he went or whether you'd ever get to talk shit on his loser casteist ass again and then you're sparking red and blue, unleashing a wave of telekinetic force that hurls him into the closest wall hard enough to knock some masonry loose and by the time he's picked himself up off the ground you've got him pinned and you're tasting violet blood on your tongue from where you just stuck it in his mouth after biting a few holes in his lip and punching him in the gut.

For a while everything is just growling and fangs sinking into various places and claws ruining Derse hero dresses while they rake dripping streaks of yellow and violet down respective backs and _fuck,_ are you grinding your bone sheath on his thigh and starting to stain yellow through that thin but weirdly durable cloth, okay yeah you're doing that and you know what who gives a shit about misery because he grabs you by the hair and almost rips some out so you mind-slam him onto the ground and hold him there with arcs of energy keeping his wrists held against the pavement and _holy shit_ you have a highblood helpless and snarling with frustrated lust underneath you and then you've got a hand up his dress feeling ridges of cartilage unfold and cold slick fluid stickying your fingerpads from a mind-bendingly soft slit a bit lower down and...

Oh shit, okay, there are definitely about twenty Dersite carapaceons staring, some of whom are covering the eyes of younger residents.

"Maybe thith ithn't the betht... plathe for thith," you say, and sort of get up and let your psionics fade, totally buzzkilled, and he notices the shocked little crowd. Violet-ringed eyes widen before he struggles back to his feet. You wipe your fingerpads off on your dress and he takes the opportunity to slap you in the face, get you in a skullshackle while you're distracted by the sting and drag you into a dark alley before you can focus enough to get your psionics together again.

You try not to hiss and and claw whatever parts of him you can reach and fail to avoid inflicting some damage that makes him stagger and let out a few pained and needy whimpers.

Looks like this cycle might not be so bad after all.

 **i** i

"Tho wait, why are you tho thtoked all of a thudden? Thome random dude jutht thionically hurled himthelf into your tower." She just gets up and bends down, extending a hand. You stare at her warily.

"Come on! If you're going to hang out in my tower, you should at least be sitting. Plus the floors in here are hard, you must be uncomfortable." It takes a bit of effort to make yourself just trust her, but you do it because you're pretty sure that whatever she is, you're in the heart of her domain and she can do just about whatever she wants with you anyway. She helps you up. "Sit down! Don't just stand there, silly."

"Uh, there ithn't anywhere to... thit... oh." There's a chair behind you now. You stare at her and she smiles at you. You shrug and sit down. "But, like I thaid, why are you--"

"Because you were excited about learning something mysterious for its own sake! Almost everybody I know just looks for information and works on whatever hypothesis or theory they have out of necessity. It's like they don't _want_ to know anything, they just do it because they don't have a choice! But you actually care. Don't you think that's _really cool?_ " She's practically bouncing in her chair. It's kind of adorable, and at the same time, her excitement is a little too genuine, to the point of being kind of disconcerting.

"Yeah, I gueth. I mean, trying to figure shit out when you need to'th important, but ithn't it jutht ath important to go for thomething jutht becauthe you can? If I'm hacking a tough thythem thometimeth it'th jutht becauthe I want to know how, even if I'm not getting anything elthe out of it." When you mention hacking she actually lets out a joyous little squeal.

"Ooh, you hack stuff, oh my gosh! My brother's best friend's big sister is a hacker, even though she doesn't talk about it much any more. Sometimes she acts like she quit, but then she'll slip up and it's sooo obvious she's still out there on the extranet breaking things and siphoning money out of corporate accounts. It's not like she could live where she does with the money from her normal job, anyway!"

"Uh." You're not really sure what some of that meant. "Thorry, but what'th a brother? Or a thithter, either?" She smiles at you in a way that might be a little bit condescending, but you're in a good mood... well of course you are, you're your Propsit self right now... but you think she doesn't mean it that way, so it's not a big deal.

"Trolls seem to have a lot of trouble with this and everybody sucks at explaining things or just likes messing with people so let me try! Trolls reproduce by mixing genetic material and using a complex organism to process it all and make larvae. But with humans it's a little bit different! See, during human intercourse, the genetic material of one partner fertilizes tiiiiny little eggs inside the other partner, and one or sometimes a few of those eggs grow into embryos inside the impregnated partner, go from there to being kind of like troll larvae, and then come out as sort of the human equivalent of pupas except there's no single pupation period, so I guess it's more like they come out like differently developed wrigglers, actually. A brother or sister or any kind of sibling is usually someone else who was grown inside the same human and shares the genetic traits of both reproductive partners. Brothers are males who were born that way and sisters are females! It's typical for siblings, that means either a brother or sister or anything else, to live together and be raised by both genetic contributors sort of like lusii raise trolls, or sometimes just one and sometimes neither. So siblings share various genetic traits and mostly grow up together, and a lot of the time they're really emotionally close, so it's kind of like having a friend you've known your entire life or most of it who has really similar genetics and lives with you and is raised by the same lusus or lusii. See, it's not that complicated! I don't know why it's so hard for a lot of trolls to grasp. So do you sort of get what I mean?"

You just sort of sit and listen and try to process all of that. Wow. Aliens are really, really fucking weird. Even weirder than you expected.

"... Yeah, I think tho. That'th thuper weird but it'th not that hard to grathp, even if it'th pretty, well, alien?" She's beaming again and claps her hands together.

"Yes! See, I knew it! Everybody else is just awful at explaining things, they're so lazy about the details."

"That'th fucking creepy, though," you say, "Having a larva _grow inthide of you?"_ You fail to suppress a shudder just at the thought and she laughs and shrugs before moving on from the topic, which is really probably for the best because you're not sure you want to picture that whole idea any more right now. Or maybe ever.

"I think you've met one of my brothers, he's the one I'm talking about, his name is John! He said he ran into a couple of trolls a few days ago and one of them had a red eye and a blue eye and you have those so it must be you."

"Oh yeah, that dork who thaid hith thithter... which I gueth maketh thense now, eheh, wath TV'th matethprit. Wait, tho... ith that you? He'th got really big hornth for our age and he'th paralythed from the waitht down becauthe... well, if he'th your matethprit you already know, probably."

"Yes!" Now she is actually literally bouncing in her chair. "He's so sweet! All my friends and my brothers and my sister don't get why I love him so much for some reason. But... how could I not? Once I got to know him it was just obvious what I wanted and what an interesting person he was under all of his self-esteem and self-confidence issues. Plus he's adorable and just thinking about him makes me want to hug him and maybe do some other stuff! I've got free time tomorrow so I'll have to see if he wants to have sex when I wake up, or maybe I'll try to find his dreamself... ooh, sorry, off-topic!"

She actually doesn't seem to realize how awkward that last part was. You're pretty sure if she didn't have more to say she might have gone into even more detail about pailing your friend. Does she just not have any sense of how inappropriate that is? Anyway, that's not the point. She just said something that makes no sense.

"Wait, wait. How can you be, uh, pailing TV'th regular body? There'th thort of thome theriouth thpinal damage going on. I didn't think any of thothe part'th would work." Talking about his junk isn't something you really want to be doing but you _have_ to know what the deal is there.

"Oh, that! Well, we're working on it. Last time I was on Earth I did some work with implants to help facilitate neural impulses reaching lower than the damaged point and my sister helped... oh, she's the Maid of Life, so she can do some healing stuff, I'm not sure I could have made it work without her help." She looks kind of sad and that's shitty, you don't know what's wrong but unhappiness just doesn't seem to sit right on her face somehow. Then she brightens up again and you smile a bit without meaning to. "We ended up getting the sex parts working first for some reason and he can't walk yet, but when I'm done with my work on Perimetros and Tavros and I go back down to Earth we're going to try to fix the rest of it. It should only take one more operation, or maybe two if something goes wrong! It took some time to figure out if it was really right for his emotional state to heal the injury this soon because I was afraid he just wanted to do it because of some stuff he said about needing legs to have self-esteem and that made me nervous even though it's totally his choice but we talked about it a lot and now that he's feeling a lot better about himself he promised he just wants to be able to walk again and I think he deserves to be able to so that's what Jane and I have been working on together."

Holy shit, she talks a lot. You think you should find it annoying but you sort of want to talk a lot too when you get the chance. She's so excited to be telling you all of this that it makes you think of how you feel when you've been really lonely for a long time and then you meet a friend or something and it can get tough to know when to be quiet. Your best guess is she's been really busy doing... whatever the hell she does, and you've been lonely for a long time too, so you just let her ramble. Her tower is right by yours so maybe you can visit again. You know, if she wants you to, you don't want to intrude or anything, that'd be shitty.

"Wow. That'th... really awethome." Now that it's sinking in that TV is actually going to be able to _walk_ again you're kind of overwhelmed, almost to the point of tearing up a little. It's probably got a lot to do with knowing that some of the misery VK spread around is getting fixed, which is a selfish reason to care so much, but it's still great for him and that's what matters. "You... did thay you know how he got paralythed, right?" Her smile doesn't fade, but it changes somehow and suddenly you feel sort of scared of her. It's something in the eyes, something else that doesn't sit right on her but that you understand. She doesn't say anything, just nods. "You know she mutht be gonna try to hurt thomebody like that again thooner or later. And when she doeth, I _am_ going to kill her." You watch her for any change in expression, but there's none at all.

"Well, let me know first, okay? I was thinking before she died I'd snipe her through the spine and let her feel what Tavros's life was like for a while before I killed her. But if you want to finish her off, I'll find a way to do my thing and still keep her alive long enough to make sure you don't get left out!"

Okay, yeah. You like this girl a lot _and_ she scares the fucking shit out of you. But you know what, you're okay with that, because it's _VK_ the two of you are talking about, and you think her idea is just fucking _awesome_. Then suddenly you feel dizzy and tired and light-headed.

"Oh, shit, I'm waking up. Two quethtionth before it'th too late, what'th your name and, thorry if it'th too much trouble but could you take me back to my tower or let thith body thtay here? I gueth thomething thtupid ith breaking on my ship becauthe I haven't even been athleep for a fucking hour yet."

"You can stay here! Sorry I used up all of your time, I didn't mean to. I'm Jade! Jade Harley. What's your name?"

"Thollux. Thollux Captor. And it'th okay, I'm glad we got to talk. And thankth for not letting me thmash mythelf into pietheh like an idiot."

"No problem! See you later!" She waves as everything goes indistinct, and you know you're going to feel like shit in a few seconds when you have to drag yourself out of your recuperacoon with barely any rest, but you're pretty used to that by now.

"Thee you later," you say, and then you're just a stream of consciousness flowing back to its source.

i **i**

He presses you up against a wall in the alley and and now he's the one with a hand up _your_ dress and you're so fucking pissed that he's starting to win again but oh _fuck_ the way his fingers feel as he shoves them roughly up your nook is amazing and when he starts flexing them in the closest approximation to the way a bulge feels it's impossible not to almost blank out for two seconds while you groan into his bleeding shoulder.

"Guess wwho's gonna finish first," he says, and you bite his shoulder again and he lays into your back with his claws. Damn but is your back ever becoming a bleeding mess. "Got one clue to wwork wwith, fucker, it starts wwith an S." Oh, you are going to _wreck_ this fucking jerk. You knock his free arm away with another pulse of energy, press your right hand to a thoracic mound (of course his are bigger, the fucking highblood shithead) and knead it and when he shudders in surprise and arousal you get your other one up under _his_ fucking dress and massage the five or six inches of bulge he's got out so far and if your fangs weren't still buried in him you'd be smirking as slurry soaks your hand and the noise he makes is completely worth the way it makes him forget what he's doing with your nook for a little while. Actually, you've got shit to say, so you pull said fangs out of his shoulder.

"Think again, theathcum, when I'm done with you I'm gonna laugh while you're begging me _oh pleathe Mithter Captor fill me with your amazing thlurry,"_ and he slams the side of his head into yours, pulls his fingers out and then throws you down on your ass and kneels over you, pinning your wrists to the pavement. God _damn_ it.

You start to gather energy again but he fizzles you completely by gouging your lips with his fangs and shoving his tongue into your mouth, where his and yours twist together and writhe around so neither of you can bite down without hurting yourselves too, which is pretty much the only way to get tongues safely past fangs while hate-pailing. He sits up, pulling you onto his lap, son of a _shit_ what a total _asshole_ you are _not_ letting him get away with this, and when his bulge slithers into your nook you completely fail at not chittering hard and high but you don't fail at smacking him in the jaw and using the chance to bowl both of you over so he's under you again and your thighs are tangled. Shit, _damn,_ his bulge is ridged or something and the way it writhes inside you, it's not _better_ than Aradia's but it's different and new and that almost kicks your ass but you pull through the insane texture and the pulses of cold slurry that are already starting to fill your nook and drip out and manage to wriggle against his pelvis enough for your own bulge to sneak down and slide into him and _god_ he's cold inside too and you shudder even harder but he's doing the same thing and for a little while you both sort of forget the context of this thing and just drown in sensations and the sounds you're half-aware you're making and something must go wrong in your thinkpan because you're not exactly sure that you strictly hate him in this moment, or maybe there's just more to this kind of hate than you understood.

"You utter _piethe of shit_ ," you manage to get out, " _I thought you died, you were gone for two thweepth and I thought you were dead_ ," and the surge of anger accompanying the memory still comes along with something else.

"Fuck, hhhh, _fuck_ you, wwas thinkin' like I'd nevver evven _talk to you_ again, didn't imagine you'd givve half a fuck about some loser ain't evven wworth proper hate," and he suddenly pulls on you and tries to roll and flip you both over but you just end up lying on your sides and _what the fuck,_ how could he not have known how serious you were about loathing every fiber of his arrogant being? Fuck, fuck, how can he be so _cold_ inside you and inside himself, it almost feels like it should hurt but your own heat counters it well enough and it doesn't quite balance out but it, it, oh god, he's swelling a little bit and the constant drips of his slurry out of you and yours out of him are audible and that always gets you and is, is, oh, yep, his bulge is pressing on your seedflap which is giving way and letting him in, and the grinding slippery waves of shock and pleasure as four or five inches move through your twitching insides and thrash deep in your gene sac have something to say to your bulge and you can feel your tip practically freezing as it shoves its way into his own flap, plunging deep through an incredibly tight space which closes again and locks you inside sloshing near-frozen fluids.

"How could you think I didn't hate you _'proper,'_ you _inthufferable,_ you, you fucking, oh _fuck_..." He's talking at practically the same time as you, and you're just barely able to understand through your own words.

"Wweren't a soul felt nothin' _proper_ for me, not _Kar_ , not evven _Fef_ the end of it come round provvin', and noww y-you, shit, _g-god,_ " and it's hard to figure out the timing to figure out who won, but the outgoing subdivision of your gene sac that's been draining out of you bit by bit is emptying itself into him and you can feel his bulge pulsing as his own pumps cold waves into your mixing subdivision where the heat of your waiting slurry cools, the frost of his genetic material filling you until something feels stretched inside and your head is buried in his shoulder without any biting and he's doing the same to you and you might be saying something and he might be wailing your name, but everything just feels so _much_ and there's so much to _feel,_ you haven't pailed anybody in perigees, not since you left Aradia to go waste your time like an idiot, and oh you _needed_ this and you've never even _had_ a black-pailing before and... time slides away as you empty parts of yourselves to fill parts of each other, and then when it's finally over and you stiffen with the suction on your bulge as it pulls out of his seedflap and the inverse feeling of his pulling out of yours as both of your organs retract not quite at the same moment but pretty fucking close, all of your energy is just gone and you lie panting together side by side and something completely unexpected happens.

You feel his arm wrap around you and pull you close in a way that does not feel black at all and for some reason you're doing the same, and when he starts to cry something breaks in your thinkpan and then you're both lying in wet dresses and spilled slurry crying on each other and hugging each other tight and things are getting awfully red.

"M-mithed you, dumbath," that's what comes out of your squak gaper, and he actually nuzzles against you and this is not hateful at all but you don't seem to mind.

" _Sol_ ," he says, or more like sighs, "wwhy'd it take so long to get to this?" You honestly don't know. Probably because you were both young and stupid.

"Why are you uthing my name? Thought I wath Muthtard or whatever elthe you could think up."

"On account a it's your name, idiot, like I'd such as be hatin' you for blood that ain't mean jack shit," he says, and who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Eridan Ampora?

"Thinthe when do you give a shit? It'th not like Feferi ever got you to care or... wait, did you say, who the fuck ith Kar?"

"Not a thing a your business," he says, then tells you anyway. "A guy I used to knoww. Real wweirdo, typed in gray, ain't evver get to meet him personal."

" _What,_ " you say, because _what._ "Karkat Vantath? Ith that... that'th impothible, I'd know if you knew him, he'th not the type to... okay that'th shit, he'th definitely the type to keep thecreths, obviouthly, but..."

"You _knoww_ him? God damn it, fool probably nevver wwent so far as to say a thing about knowwin' me. Must a been 'cause a all a this vviolet swwill got runnin' through this goddamn husk." Okay, this is getting _so_ bizarre. What _happened_ to him while he was missing? "It maybe sounds a stupid fuckin' thing, but he's maybe, wwell, maybe he's my hero, just as like a little bit, an you so much as _breathe_ about it in his direction I'll, wwell, just don't."

Neither of you seems to know what to say after all of these weird revelations and weirder unasked and unanswered questions. You manage to untangle from each other and sit side by side with up against the alley wall.

"Where are you?", you ask, because you have to know, for some reason it feels so important that you know.

"A shuttle," he says, which you weren't expecting. "Left the _Coordination_ as some history ain't wwant a part of any more."

"But you're the Empreth'th moirail, and where are you even fucking going?"

"Ain't," he says quietly. "Fef I kneww ain't wwhat's rulin' this bad joke of a species." He's silent long enough that you're about to say something when he blows your mind. "Broke it off. Wwith, wwith her. I couldn't keep pretendin', Sol. Like she wwas really herself as I kneww her. Couldn't pretend as I wwas really a body that mattered an then I found out I didn't wwanna matter. So I vvolunteered an now I'm killin' time alone on this shuttle wwhat's bound for Earth."

"Eridan," you say for the first time ever. "What did the two of you _do?_ How'd she kill the Empreth? She'th obviouthly thome athpect but... the _Empreth?_ " He looks at you like he's thinking about answering, wants to but something's keeping him from thinking he should. Maybe that's the smart thing. Maybe knowing wouldn't be good for you. You stand up because the pavement's hurting your ass and you're surprised to find yourself offering him your hand and surprised when he takes it.

He opens his mouth to say something, his expression is telling you it's something important, and that's when he grunts in pain and struggles not to double over, hand on the grip of the knife that someone just threw into his side.

 _"Shit!"_ , you hiss, and there's somebody in the shadows of the alley. No, there's more than just somebody. Both ways out of the narrow space are blocked by Dersite carapaceons with various weapons drawn and they're wearing something weird, tabards with some sort of sign on them, and you can't make out the details in the dimness but you do see it's green on black.

You're about to unleash an optic blast to clear one exit when suddenly you're dizzy and too tired to move and light-headed. Eridan looks at you and you can tell he knows what's happening and you're terrified because oh god he just got _stabbed_ and you're about to wake up and leave him and your Dersite dreamself alone in this dark place full of carapaceons who want to kill you for some reason you even can't guess at.

"No, _no_ , oh _fuck_ ," you say weakly. He stiffens and then shudders in pain, and then he meets your eyes that are shutting without permission and he smiles and why exactly does this feel sort of flushed and does that mean you're cheating on Aradia? No, shit, that's not the important thing right now, figure that out later, jackass.

"It's okay," he says, and no, it's not _okay_ , "I ain't let one a these fuckers touch you." Oh god, this is his dreamself, he can't possibly have the Crosshairs with him, he's got no weapon, you're both going to die right here and now. You should have known this was all too good to last.

"Pleathe don't die," that's the last thing you can manage. He's reaching down near where the knife is still stuck in him and gritting his fangs through what must be terrible pain and he... what is that? His fingerpads tug something like a thin white stick out of a pocket you didn't even notice had been sewn into his dress, and is that a _wand?_ Is he... _what the FUCK?_

"Wwe're good," he says, and he sounds like he actually means it, and you're about gone, no, _no_ , you can't just _leave him here_ , "because I'm the Prince a fuckin' Hope, an hope's all I got left in this wworld." He pauses as a strange look passes over his face. The wand in his hand flares a shocking white, wreathing his arm in blinding alabaster flames that don't seem to hurt him at all. There's something else, a few last words you can't make sense of, and then you're just a stream of consciousness flowing back to its source.

**i i**

Bolting awake in your recuperacoon you thrash slime away, trying not to scream from the shock of two sets of memories slamming into your thinkpan at once as you hear an alarm go off on your desk. _That_ alarm. A few seconds process everything your dreamselves did and learned.

You listen to that familiar alarm and realize that you just got ripped out of the most important sleep cycle you've ever had because _somebody on the ship needs basic tech support and you're bottom-rung here even though you're basically a genius._ No more caste discrimination your yellowblood  _ass_.

As you drag yourself out of the 'coon, it hits you that this is fucking it. You're done. You're done with this ship and this shitty job, you're done with idiots, you're done with this fucking chaotic and barely functioning Empire.

Earth. ED's headed for Earth and you can hack your way into finding out where in that system KK is, too, you're sure of it. This is the beginning of the end of your time spent wasted doing grunt work like you're nothing more than some regular codemammal. You're tracking KK down and then you're joining the fucking E.E.P.

And maybe it'll turn out to be a wasted effort and it hurts like hell trying to imagine your life if it is, but you're going to do everything you can to talk AA into coming with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of porn in this fic lately. Whoops. Sollux's Derse dreamself is gonna be letting loose a river of fluid while he's awake, that's pretty embarrassing, poor guy. Meanwhile Eridan, trying to fight with a knife in his side before his organs decide enough mixing's gone on and the same thing happens to him. God damn it, trolls. Get some fucking buckets already. At some point I'm going to have to explain the murkier details of troll junk and internal sex parts but I hope it's not too hard to get the gist of.


	13. Act 1-7: Bad Timing (Shades Of Green)

_i caught first glimmers in hides and skins_

_look who's all grown up, black swanning about the solar winds_

_you're gonna lose it all and find yourself on your knees_

_so get a grip and you might flow, reverse the great, slow bleed_

[ _imogen heap - earth_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_BduTO0UC8)

 

* * *

 

When you wake up in the... uuuugh, the _morning_ , you sort of sum up the complete clusterfuck that last night turned out to be to get it all straight in your memory. Wow, you definitely purchased a masturbatory aid from a human with fuchsia eyes, got the shit beat out of you, almost killed three aliens, got rescued by said human in a way that really doesn't make a whole lot of sense to you unless she was full of shit about not being royalty somehow, almost/halfway awkwardly pailed her and against all fucking logic didn't even care that she wasn't a troll, and then you freaked the fuck out and ruined everything, even if she was nice about it afterward. You groan and spend a minute idly suffocating yourself with a pillow.

Either life on Earth is every bit as grubfucking insane as it was back home or you're just a magnet for things that make no sense. Pondering this for a while, you decide it's probably some of both. God damn it. Okay, okay, last night was what it was, and you don't have to deal with it right now, you can just... shove it off to the fucking side for a while and try to piece together what the hell today's gonna be.

You groan for a second time as you drag yourself out of bed (huh, finally starting to lose those mental air quotes, wonder if that's a good sign or a bad sign), suffering from a not exactly familiar but definitely recognizable disease known as 'shaking off the grime left over from a night of actual decent sleep.'

Stumbling over to your husktop (you do NOT give a shit that it's human-made, you're a goddamned troll and it is your _husktop_ ) you... what are you doing over here, actually? You guess it's just force of habit and then start really thinking, what are your habits, anyway? How the fuck did you manage to be here a quarter of a sweep without learning almost jack shit about humans?

The answer's actually not that complex, now that you think about it, it's just sad and makes you look like a fucking idiot, which you are. You just typed a flood of whiny bullshit into password-locked text receptacles that still serve as a pathetic life-record as some sort of attempt at having an emotional outlet, instead of doing something rational like _talking to your fucking moirail about shit_ , you found and semi-legally did some mutual fragmented data harvesting to get whatever Alternian media you could and use it to try to forget where you actually were, you even managed to get a few Alternian games that worked on your shitty Alterian-tech electronic control system emulator. You spent a lot of time in bed. Sometimes you've lost unsettling numbers of hours barely thinking but not asleep, feeling something weird that seems to gnaw at you almost all of the time, not anger or sadness but this kind of intense apathy that peaks once in a while to the point where you honestly wouldn't care if somebody just popped into your block and shot you in the face. Time lost any meaning pretty often, and you could end a day feeling like you'd only woken up an hour prior and not really knowing what you'd been doing all that time.

You barely left your block, usually only to use the ablution block or to get water or something from the low-temperature nutrient preservation container. It wasn't like you had much to leave it for. Strider's made you feel like your thinkpan was going to wither and implode from sheer incoherence and irritation ever since you got here, Lalonde was there some of the time and being visible then kind of felt like willingly presenting yourself to the fucking Handmaid, and Kanaya spent time with you in your block more than you did in hers. And other than that terrifying first day when you disembarked from the shuttle and tried to find the hive you were assigned you actually never left the hive at all until yesterday. Kanaya did the supply runs, Kanaya took care of a lot of things.

It's becoming evident to you that you are in fact a really shitty moirail.

A thing you could definitely try to do now might be to at least use some time on your husktop researching the humans species, but... for some reason you just don't want to. You're being stupid, but it feels wrong to you, or at least less 'right' than just asking actual humans who are actually near you. Of course Strider's not an option; _if_ you could swallow enough bile and acidic vomit to actually talk to the asshole on purpose and _if_ he even bothered listening you know you'd just get mocked and then fucked with.

There's Lalonde, but... when she's around, she's busy with her matesprit/your moirail, she still scares you even if she did save your life, and the bitch would probably fuck with you almost as much as Strider. Hell, maybe more. You figure Strider would go all out and Lalonde would get you with subtletly, which could actually be much worse and much more goddamned humiliating. Who the hell does that leave?

You didn't even get a second name out of her. There's no way the sequence she wrote is actually for her real comm unit, and you don't want to make an ass out of yourself contacting some random person and finding out without a question that she doesn't actually want anything else to do with you. She was nice, at least. Didn't make fun of you for freaking out, just kind of let you do your thing until you got set up to leave and exchanged... wait. No. Really? Are you really just now realizing that you forgot to tell her _YOUR_ fucking name? What the hell, self? At least she was blasted out of her mind on soporifics, what's your excuse? And she doesn't even have the sequence for _your_ comm unit so even if she actually does want to ever be near you again or even speak to you, you won't know unless you risk making the first move. God _damn_ it.

The glare of your husktop screen, _still_ a little bit painful with the gamma levels down low and gross daylight filtering in through the cracks in your window-sheaths, holds the most pathetic thing of all. It's what seems to be about the billionth fucking version of something called Trillian, which is weird, and it's a platform that among having other uses can actually emulate Trollian. You remade your account on the Sol networks and then... It makes you fucking cringe to think about what a loser you are, but you added the handles of most of your friends.

grimAuxiliatrix, the only name that's ever lit up, because sometimes you talk to Kanaya online even when you're literally sharing a wall. twinArmageddons, because god damn it he was a really good friend. adiosToreador, because even though you're loathe to admit it, the same goes for that poor piece of cullbait. terminallyCapricious, because... you know what you don't even fucking know with that guy, he was either fuzzed the fuck out on actual literal sopor or kind of creepy and upsetting, but you still talked to him all the time. arsenicCatnip, because... okay, she kind of scared you if you're being honest with yourself, even if she was completely ridiculous, but damn it if she wasn't weirdly nice and you'd cull yourself before admitting it but her stupid constant meowbeast roleplaying shit really was kind of cute. apocalypseArisen, for no real reason other than friendship even if you didn't talk much and she was mostly Kanaya's friend.

You didn't bother adding arachnidsGrip because wow, seriously, fuck her so much, and you didn't bother with... eugh... centaursTesticle, because wow, seriously, why would you ever talk to him willingly.

caligulasAquarium and cuttlefishCuller you were careful to add, to make sure that you never, ever forget what you did, not for a single day.

And then there's gallowsCalibrator. Why the fuck did you put her on here? Even if somehow you ever did see her online, it's not like you're going to talk to her, not after the incredible fucking mess you made there and the general overwhelming bitterness clinging to everything about her.

Only one name ever lights up on this list, but you still keep it for some reason, probably just because it's one more way to sort of pretend you're home.

The worst thing about how big a mistake coming to Earth was is the fact that as completely fucking hideous as life here is and as much as you hate it more than you can put into words, it was _still the right choice_. Staying home just would've been an even bigger mistake.

This is all just so goddamned stupid and what the fuck there's an incoming message from a handle that's not on your list? How is that even possible? It seriously takes you a minute or two of anxious confusion to just gnaw the fucking projectile already and see who the fuck this is and what the fuck is going on.

 

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

TG: heyyyyyy tehre how are you this fiiine mornign

CG: FUCKING CONFUSED, THAT'S WHAT. WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU HAVE MY HANDLE? IF THIS IS SOME LAME FUCKING ATTEMPT AT A JOKE AND YOU'RE STRIDER I SWEAR TO SKAIA I WILL COME OUT THERE, SOCK YOU IN THE FACE AND THEN START BREAKING YOUR SHIT FOR BEING A TOTAL GODDAMNED BULGEPORE.

TG: woaahhh thats some creatiev wordplay there horny boy

TG: wodnt have guessed u were such a cunnign linguist ;)

TG: *cunnitng

CG: ... ROXY? WHAT THE HELL? NOT THAT I'M NOT, UH, I MEAN IT'S GREAT THAT... HEARING FROM YOU IS COOL. AND REALLY IMMEDIATE AND INEXPLICABLE. HOW DID YOU GET MY HANDLE THOUGH? THAT'S PRETTY FUCKING MYSTIFYING.

TG: *smirks n like leans bakc all slick n cool* a girl has her ways, karkt, a girl has her ways, wiiiiiiiink

TG: *karkat

TG: pictgure me like winkin at u rite now like wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink

TG: also dont u remember im the head haxxor bitch around these parst? u dont even KNWO the kind of shit i know abot, i barly know myself theres so much way crayzy intel flotatin aroudn my brain

TG: *aboat *about *flaotign *aw fucki t

CG: OKAY, IT'S ACTUALLY TERRIFYING THAT YOU KNOW MY HANDLE AND MY NAME WHEN I DIDN'T GIVE YOU EITHER. I THINK THERE'S A WORD FOR THIS IN BOTH OUR CULTURES. I'LL GIVE YOU A HINT, THE WORD IS 'STALKING.'

CG: AND OF COURSE SOMEHOW I REALLY DON'T GIVE A SHIT SO WHATEVER. IT'S MY OWN CORPSE PARTY IF THIS IS A STUPID THING TO DO, I GUESS. I MEAN IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE ANY OTHER HUMANS TO TALK TO OTHER THAN MY PUS-SPURTING NOOK-INFECTION OF A HIVEMATE.

CG: YOUR TYPING IS GODDAMNED ATROCIOUS, ARE YOU ARE YOU SERIOUSLY DRINKING THAT WEIRD SOPORIFIC IN THE MORNING? DON'T YOU HAVE WORKPLACE DUTIES?

TG: reeelaaaaax dude its fuckin satrday, aint back at the store until mondyay, igot lotsa hours before im back at the didlo empoiruim

TG: honry boy do u even know wat a weekend is

CG: MAYBE I DO, MAYBE I DON'T. SO WHAT.

TG: its saaaaturday!!!!! practiaclly nobody works on saturdsy or sundays thats like usuhally how it works

TG: wich brings me around to my poiont...

TG: wanna try n spennd some ~qualulity~ time togethr tomorrow? like we dont gotta git it on or nofin but i mean yknow yr cool im probably cool we shuld b friends n shit

TG: n maybe try n talk about what excatly happend last night but its xool *cool if not

CG: NOFIN?

TG: wut ist a typo lighthen up cutie iim just drunk like p much every day

CG: SORRY, NO, IT JUST... REMINDED ME OF SOMEBODY I USED TO KNOW. IT'S NOTHING. FORGET ABOUT IT.

CG: UH, YEAH, SURE. YEAH. WHEN... HUH. HOW DO I GET TO YOUR HIVE, THOUGH?

TG: ill just drive over and pick u up obv??? dork

TG: iunno about time imight maaaybe sleep in a lil late

TG: call me at 2 or 3 does that work

CG: YEAH I CAN DO THAT. I KIND OF ACTUALLY NEED TO GO AND TAKE CARE OF SOMETHING, SORRY TO JUST RUN OUT ON YOU HERE. I'LL CONTACT YOU TOMORROW THEN. I MEAN. NO, YEAH. I'LL...

CG: OKAY TALK TO YOU LATER BYE

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] stopped trolling tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

 

Wow! You sure could have been less awkward about panicking for no reason and needing to get the fuck off Trollian (Trillian? Troillian?), and you sure fucking weren't. You're about to just go lie down on the bed again and get back to the suffocating and then something just _changes._ Maybe it changed last night and you just didn't notice until now. So you decide no, fuck this, fuck that, fuck _everything_. For one and three quarters more sweeps, this planet is your home. And you've already found out that it's dangerous, but that's okay, because there's one crucial difference from Alternia: you don't actually literally have to stay indoors almost constantly to avoid being culled. So... going outside. That's a real thing you can do in your life. You can do that basically whenever you want.

You get properly dressed and make yourself just... _go outside_ , while you have the bitterness and the nerve. It's time for your second foray into... whatever the fuck this city's called, you can't even remember exactly, something to do with angels, maybe, which is definitely kind of intimidating, but again, _fuck it._

Strider's not in the common area. Finally, some mercy in life. Once you're deadly fucking sure you have everything important pocketed, including your hivekey and comm unit, you push out into the day and shield your eyes from some of the light. After about a minute of careful exposure you can kind of tolerate it. Your pupils must be basically nonexistent right now.

Stratuspiercers of varying heights glitter in the sun while casting massive shadows. The streets are just as choked with humans as they were last night; actually a lot more than they were. You lean against a ferrocrete pillar and just... watch for a while. It's incredibly surreal, even moreso than last night, with some human children being watched over by older humans who almost seem to be acting like lusii and some older humans actually transporting what you can only imagine are human wrigglers.

Moving, that'll probably do you some good, and it's hard to get started but the first time you finally see horns somewhere in the crowd, the loneliness of everything cracks just a bit and so you decide to just... walk in one direction for a while and come back. You could use the exercise, and you're pretty sure that as much as it grates, you need the general exposure to this city, this world.

You're careful not to bump into anyone, or at least not much, because it's quickly obvious that bumping into humans is literally unavoidable. What you can manage is to sort of dart and weave around most of them, which is weird but helps. The sheer amount of life here is basically obscene and also weirdly impressive. These people are still almost completely mysterious to you and most of them hate your species with good reason, but... they're _real_ , really real. There's a culture here, hell, it looks like a lot of cultures even just in one fucking city, and you're guessing they're not any less nuanced and storied than your own.

This is a species that the old Empress was going to annihilate.

How many other civilizations out there were just as real and complex and full of actual people as this before the Empire got to them, wiped out most of the populace, occasionally took slaves, and picked their planets over for resources like idly looting corpses on a battlefield? By the time you were eight, by the time you'd known Feferi for a while, you weren't really okay with the whole total war on all fronts thing. Or really even anything close to it. But now you're _here_ and you know that not only have your people ended more civilizations like this than anybody bothered to count, you almost did that here, too. How many of these humans had loved ones who died in the war, whether they were soldiers or just caught up in something beyond their control?

Something weird's going on near you that you notice way later than you probably should have. There's a human child, one of the darker-skinned ones, it's hard to even estimate age but if she's more than three sweeps you'll be real fucking surprised. She's... looking up at you? What's that all about?

"What's wrong, mister?" _What?_ You barely know how to respond; there is a little human talking to you for some reason. Not to mention that hell, even you don't really know the answer to that question. An older human, maybe an adult, pops in practically out of nowhere and takes the little one's hand, obviously trying to quietly usher her away from the glaring alien. It kind of makes you feel like shit but you can't blame him.

"Come on, honey," the lusus-subtitute-ish one says. "You know I've told you not to talk to... strangers." He tugs on her arm and as she's vanishing into the crowd you hear her say one more thing.

"But _daaaaddy_ , he was _crying,_ " and then you're back to leaning on the pillar alone.

You swallow hard and rub your cheeks and eyes clean and that unguarded instant is when someone stumbles into you, almost knocking you over, and then while you're still shocked and confused, drags you back and into a shadowy alley between two storefronts.

By the time your sickles are out and one's whipping at his throat he isn't there any more, even though that is goddamned impossible. He isn't anywhere, you think in wild fear and further confusion, until you hear a waste receptacle being knocked over and the sound of a human coughing. Sickles at the ready, you take a few steps closer, and...

"Yo, fearless leader," Dave Strider says, voice strained and slightly weak. "Gotta make this quick, alright? Get your ass over here."

What the hell is he wearing? He's propped himself up against an alley wall, breathing hard, in clothes that look almost military, or at least have a lot of potential utility to them. Dark pants with a lot of pockets and... both a sword sheathe and a knife sheathe actually hanging at his waist for some reason, even though you know he keeps his sword in his specibus. Above all of that, a torn-up black jacket with a lot of pockets, half of them full of who knows what, layered over a pretty basic t-shirt. His ocular light impact dimmers are cracked and one arm is wrapped around the lower region of his sternum, which meshes pretty well with the idea that he's exhausted.

"Okay, don't even fuck with me right now, y--"

" _Karkat,_ " he says, that one word stopping you cold for some reason. He doesn't sound much like the Strider you know at all. It sounds like there are so many conflicting feelings contained in those two syllables that you can't make sense of any of them. "We ain't got the time to fuck around. You have to drop everything _right now_. Forget that we're both shitty roommates and I'm a total prick. Pretend it's all fine or somethin'. Right now, in this gross-ass alley, you have to drop all of that shit and just _listen to me_. Now get the fuck over here."

Wary and completely at a loss, you get the fuck over there. He holds something out for you to take: it looks like some sort of data storage device. Something you could probably stick in a husktop slot, even. His face quirks into what might be the Dave Strider equivalent of an actual smile when you take the thing, and he sounds exhausted when he speaks again.

"Look dude, I'm no good at this cloak and dagger shit so let's hope I can figure out the right amount of cryptic to make this work." You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off immediately. "Don't show anyone that flash drive. Don't look at it or try to get in. When, uh... huh. Hmm. When the human girl with green eyes comes back to Earth, give this to her. You'll know who I mean." He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed. "Actually, trust girls who have anything to do with green in general, I think that's pretty solid cryptic advice. And when you get home, don't tell anyone I was here. That's _really fuckin' important,_ okay? _Nobody_. And really like double hella make sure you don't say anything to _me_ about this. Not a word. You never saw me here today, and you're gonna act that way, and you're not gonna talk to me about it or even hint at it. Ever."

"Strider, what in the pitiless nooksearing core of Derse is this shit about?" He laughs as soon as you say 'Derse' for some reason, then coughs again.

"Sorry," he says. "No spoilers. Good luck, leader dude. If we're lucky then maybe this'll be enough for us to get things done right." He's quiet for a few seconds while you try to process literally anything he just said when his mouth opens in shock. "SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" He points over your shoulder and like a total imbecile you twitch your head away from him to where there's obviously nothing. When you turn back to Strider he's just... gone, although knowing him, that's not too unusual. There's no sign he was ever here at all except for the 'flash drive' he handed you and a small dark stain where he was leaning against the wall, or maybe that was there before. It must have been.

Whatever the fuck just happened was actually weird enough that you think, for the time being, you're going to listen to him and keep this and the thing he gave you to yourself.

Back outside the alley, the street is still total grubfucking madness. The sun makes your skin itch, hurts your eyes. The atmosphere even in the city is so much cleaner than Alternian air that it still feels weird. Humans are absolutely goddamned everywhere. It's getting uncomfortably warm, and later, uncomfortably cool. As minutes and then actual hours somehow pass, gnawing aimless fear is getting more and more intense in your digestive sac. This is completely terrible and you think that right now you feel more optimistic about the world and your life than you ever have before, even if you can't explain exactly why.

Eventually night starts coming on and you think it might be smart to head back to the hive. By the time you get there it's either cooled off a _lot_ or you're running hot or probably both, because goddamn do you wish you had more on than a t-shirt and jeans. Maybe Kanaya could sew you a jacket or something. Or you could just buy one, but... it'd make her happy to do it herself. She's just that kind of person.

Inside the hive it's a little better. Strider's sitting on the couch playing some incredibly shitty, glitchy, ancient human video game, and Kanaya's milling around in the nutrition block again. The human doesn't even seem to notice you come in. He's wearing exactly what he always wears and definitely doesn't look like a commando cosplay thrown together with shit somebody dug out of a large rectangular public waste receptacle.

Heading into the nutrition block, you have a weird feeling all throughout your insides. It's not pity; there's plenty of that going around already, but this is different. You can't stop thinking about your lives, about the war, about your burning homeworld, and when she eventually notices you just standing there staring, you don't even think about what you do next: you just step forward and hug her, rubbing the side of your face against her upper chest, not even managing to be embarrassed about doing this without acting reluctant. She feels like a furnace and when she wraps her arms around you too regardless of her mild confusion, you definitely don't sniffle, not at all.

There's a loud knock on the hive's main door. Lalonde, you can only assume, and when Strider doesn't get up because he's an asshole you think _fuck it,_ which is apparently your motto for the day, and you slowly break off the hug and go open it because this is your hive too and you have as much right to be in it as anybody else.

The squealing blur that knocks you several feet back and over and then pins you to the floor is most definitely not Rose Lalonde. It wriggles excitedly and you hear unmistakeable purring coming from secondary vocal chambers. When the stars from your head hitting the floor clear up a bit, you realize you know this face, those horns. You've seen them more times than you could ever count on the other end of video calls, although never in the high definition of reality.

When she sees the recognition on your face, an olive blush you'd just had time to notice gets a lot more noticeable, and she woolbeastishly lets you up. Your shirt and even undershirt are now torn in a suspicious number of places due to clawing that you decide to, for the moment, believe was an accident.

"Hiii Karkitty!", she says, her voice the same strange mixture of almost masculine cuteness and quieted but still unsettling animalistic intensity that it always was. Of all the things you might have imagined happening today, not that there were many, this, this was not on the fucking list.

"Hi, Nepeta," and it's possible that your eyes are a tiny bit wet and there's something almost like a stunned smile on your face. _Just possible_ , mind you. Someone clears his throat from outside the door and oh god of course that asshole has to be here too.

"My apologies, Vantas," says the grossest troll who ever lived. "I attempted to keep her from greeting you in such a vulgar manner, but sometimes she is simply too quick for me."

"Karkaaaat," Nepeta whines, "I have to go get our hive set up so I don't have the time fur much of a reunion but I'll be back soon if you want! Does Trollian work on human husktops and whatever?"

"Uh, you have to emulate it but I'm sure you'll figure--"

"Purrfect! Equius can do that. Right?" He nods gravely. Everything with that guy has to be so fucking serious even though he's probably the most ridiculous animated construct of musclebeast milk and rotten casteist slurry ever to walk the face of the universe.

"Okay, I have to go claw open this new hive before we're late!" She bounces up and back toward the door. Strider's been watching the whole thing with vague amusement and Kanaya doesn't seem to have any more of an idea what to do or say than you do, which is a testament to how goddamned sudden this is. Then again that's life for you, isn't it? Slow and boring, slow and horrible, slow and boring, and then everything is exploding in your face one way or another. Nepeta pauses in the doorway and turns back to you, suddenly looking shy and cute in that unique way only she's capable of.

"It's really nice to see you in person," she says, and you catch her blush deepening even further as she closes the door beind her before you even have a chance to say _goodbye_ or _talk to you later_.

When you're finally standing again, Kanaya looks like she's about to say something but you end up just crushing her in another hug, because in this one minute, this _one fucking impossible minute_ , you're feeling this thing that might be what other people mean when they say that they're happy.

"Get a fuckin' _room_ already," Strider drawls over his shoulder. Fucker. He's kind of got a point though, this is dangerously close to inappropriate levels of PDPA.

"Can we talk about... okay, about basically a thousand goddamned things?", you ask after your proper sense of shame takes over and you let go of her.

"Of course, Dearest." She's breaking that out an awful lot more often lately than she used to. Maybe it's just because human society doesn't seem to consider pet names to be borderline pornographic for some reason. Human society is completely stupid.

"Let me just, uh..." You gesture vaguely at your tattered shirt and undershirt while trying to cross your arms under your thoracic mounds and over your gi-- your scars. She nods. "Give me like, a minute to change and come in if you want? Door'll be unlocked."

You make your way into your block and strip off your t-shirt. Damn. Fuckin' catgirl is lucky she didn't claw your skin open, or actually you're lucky, if you think about it. Even the camisole you're always wearing under anything else has rips in it. No, you know what, there is no way that this was an accident. She was doing her cat thing and also probably showing off her huntress's prowess with her extreme precision. You'll give her this much: that is some serious fucking prowess for sure.

Nepeta Leijon. You never thought you'd see any of your friends again, but of all the ones to show up at your door completely out of nowhere, you'd _really_ never have guessed it could be _her_. It's kind of amazing how much less alone you feel already, even though you barely spoke to her before she pounced right the fuck back out of your hive. What a fucking life.

It turns out that you spent a little too much time thinking about all of that, because apparently Kanaya took your 'minute to change' literally, and that is how it comes to pass that your moirail walks into your block just as you finish pulling off the camisole, mounds and hideous mutant gills in plain view. Funny how life can go from being weirdly optimistic to being completely and literally over in under a second for no good reason at all.

Well, you made it to ten sweeps. That's still a lot more life than you ever hoped for.

 

* * *

 

In a dim and dusty place, someone steps onto a small platform and is transported somewhere else not so far away. This destination is a room containing dozens of terminals and flickering screens as well as a second person, who swivels slowly around in a desk chair, haggard and grimly vindicated.

"Guess who was right about this one? Oh look, it was me. Guess the old job wasn't for nothin', huh? Keepin' track of things is a hell of a lot easier with all this tech, too."

"I believe you were telling me that you were right about something?"

"Goddamn right I was right. Told you it'd be like this if I could just get one of these damn machines tuned so as we could watch. So take a look at this and tell me what you see."

"... Ah. Well then. This answers one question, at least, though frankly I think it raises far more. I begin to feel as though we have nearly too many factors to manage. Perhaps sooner or later we might consider recruiting."

"I'm gonna assume that was a joke, seein' as there's nobody to recruit in the first place, you were made for your old job same as I was mine, and bein' able to manage a hell of a lot of factors is literally in our damn DNA. Here's the way I see this, what we're lookin' at. It's somethin' like self-cannibalism. We both know this started again centuries ago, else none of this shit would be happening. But it didn't really give up on the old run, not until the very last one was dead."

"Does it think, I wonder? Does it feel as its power grows, not simply recovering wasted scrap and energy but also sating some strange hunger? Is it not a mere proving ground, a mere crucible, a complex forge, but perhaps a god? The only god, apart from those who style themselves as such even when they can do nothing in the material until they are granted entrace by the ambitions of fools?"

"Hell if I know. If it's a god, then it's a god that went insane longer ago than anyone or anything has words for. But you know, that's not really even the point. After that Prince and Mage got a damned room in the stupidest possible place -- _that_ wasn't anything I ever wanted to watch, by the way -- and before the Prince blew up half the district and any other clues with it... Who were those Dersites, huh? Awful weird emblems for people tryin' to kill off Heroes."

"Hmm. I suppose, as usual, we will have to wait and see. You raise a rather good point, of course. Who would wear the sign of the Door but act against its interests? Perhaps we've found yet another faction with yet another agenda. Actually, they may indeed share our own, or a goal that happens to overlap. But I still think it best to bide our time for now, don't you? We are rather sorely outnumbered."

"Weren't always this outnumbered."

The first person's impassive face softens. A hand squeezes the second's shoulder.

"They _will_ be avenged, whatever happens. You know that."

The second person looks down, narrow eyes narrowing further still.

"Damn right I know. But if I'd just been a little bit smarter, there wouldn't be any avenging to do."

 

**END OF ACT 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my.
> 
> For anybody wondering how long this fic is going to be, all I can say is "probably pretty fucking long."


	14. Act 2-1: Blood Diamond (Sylph 1/3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next two chapters coming up were meant to be one much longer chapter, hence the 1/3 in the title, but in the interest of keeping things moving along update-wise, I'm splitting it at two points that seem reasonable.

**ACT 2: An Era We Hate To Admit We Embrace**

 

_always trying to decipher what it means_

_hours wasted in the land of hopes and dreams_

_so i won't look back, i won't look down_

_i'll focus on the planet spinning round and round_

[ _motion city soundtrack - the coma kid_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ar61Z_18PU)

 

* * *

 

It's entirely possible that you may have taken the statement to give him 'a minute' to change far too literally. To be fair to yourself, it has been a very odd day; Karkat actually going out to do... something, Karkat actually being willingly affectionate, an old friend appearing out of absolutely nowhere and then leaving again, and considerably more interaction with Dave than usual, which was mostly baffling and partly disconcerting.

You’ll think about that later, of course. At the moment you’re rather occupied by suddenly seeing with your own eyes the reason that your moirail spent his entire life desperately making sure that his thorax was never exposed. There’s also a bit of awkwardness seeing his mounds, of course, but not overly much; he is your moirail, after all, and after quite a lot of conversation with Rose, you’re fairly certain that you are in fact something that your own language does not have a word for: homosexual.

The look on his face once the initial shock subsides is all too familiar; it’s there every time he’s convinced himself that he’s going to die (sometimes under circumstances, such as this, that are entirely absurd), or that he’s spoken without sarcasm about culling himself. It’s difficult to describe and more difficult to witness, this sort of utter deflation: a lack of any real anger, an emotional oblivion that you honestly believe goes somewhere beyond anything you can express in Alternian. Sol-Common perhaps could accomplish the feat, but you really wouldn’t know, seeing as you do not in fact speak it, though through intense concentration you _have_ picked up on some of the original words layered beneath your implant’s translations. Karkat shuts his eyes, takes a breath, and then opens them again, meeting your gaze head on. From this distance and in this light, as is typical, his irises could easily be mistaken for burgundy.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, even _gravely,_ as though he’s delivering some enormously bad news. “This probably doesn’t count for jack shit any more, but, I pity you. So, _so_ much. I know you won’t have the bloodpusher to cull me yourself, so… please just let me pick out a place and go get my speci—“

He’s unable to finish his sentence because you’ve been walking toward him as he spoke and are finally close enough to slap him in the face. Your moirail reels and almost falls over; that won’t do at all, so you grab and steady him. He opens his mouth and you slap him again. This is going to leave a bruise and you’re going to hate yourself for it later, but in the moment, it’s the only thing you think might put him off-balance enough that he’ll actually listen to you when you respond.

“ _Karkat_ ,” you say/snarl, unable and unwilling to hide your anger at his total willingness to die just because someone knows he’s another step up the mutation ladder than he’s ever admitted, “ _Vantas_.” If his eyes are anything to go by, you have his attention. “ _I_ am going to close that door. _You_ are going to sit on your bed and wait for me to join you. _And_ _under_ _no circumstances are you going to be fucking culling yourself!”_

Incredibly, he doesn’t argue. That part will undoubtedly come shortly, but its current absence is positive. You don’t take your eyes off him for a moment as you shut and lock the door; he can be very, very fast at times, and while it seems unlikely that he would try, he could probably reach his specibus, activate it, and end his own life before you could stop him, were you to let him out of your sight. As it is, the only thing he has time for is putting his undershirt back on.

“How are you not losing your shit about this,” he says, slow and perhaps genuinely confused. You wrap an arm around him, down low in the abdominal region. “Do you not get what you just fucking saw? Should I write you out an explanation? I can do diagrams! I can do diagrams all fucking day, I’ll slit a wrist and paint it on the fucking wall for you –“ Honestly, this boy. It’s difficult to even hold a conversation without interrupting him at some point, because he simply does not stop talking.

“You have gills that didn’t fully develop after your eclosion,” you say. “Dearest. Do you really think it matters to me?” It doesn’t matter if you feel badly for letting this hang for so long even though you really had no choice, you have to be honest with him right now. “Karkat, I’ve known about this for sweeps. Actually seeing them changes absolutely nothing.”

His blank, slightly open-mouthed stare might be funny if the situation wasn’t so terribly sad. He goes somewhat slack and you squeeze him gently.

“But… how? I tried so fucking…” he sniffles and you can feel him shiver, presumably involuntarily. “I tried _so goddamned hard_. My entire _life_ I was trying.”

“I know you were, and while I wish you had been able to tell me yourself, you did a very good job. It’s just that… We slept together for two sweeps, Karkat. They’re gills, even if they don’t function as such; they twitch and try to open, and I could only think of one explanation for what I was feeling through your undergarments, though I suppose I was never _absolutely_ certain. They move in your sleep, Dearest. Not always, but… well, most of the time, to be entirely honest.” Honest, that’s what you’re trying to be, so you wince and tell him what he’s probably been trying to convince himself against for a very long time. “Sometimes when we’re very close together, I can feel them, just a little bit, even through your actual shirt.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, having just gone from slack to tense again very quickly. He was hot when you first began holding him, but as you’ve been speaking his body temperature has been dropping at a rate that you find difficulty imagining is even biologically possible for any creature, and now he’s cold, or at least, the closest to cold he gets, which is more ‘ _very cool_ ’ than anything else. You suppose that this might be how touching a seadweller would feel; you wouldn’t know, of course, but it makes a certain sort of sense. If you were lower on the spectrum yourself he would likely feel much, much colder right now, and you think that, really, you’re glad to be in the middle in this regard, because no matter how hot or cold he gets, he’s always comfortable. He’s always _comforting._

“I can’t… but…” you wait with an awful melancholy as he struggles to organize his thoughts. “I lived hiding this shit for _sweeps_. Even you and -- even the trolls who know about my blood... I wore extra layers of clothes even when I was _alone,_ and all that time before we lived together when you'd visit I'd yell at you until you gave up and took the 'coon half to make sure nothing like this... No one was supposed to know, not even… it’s not because I’m not pale f—“

“ _I know_ , Karkat. The integrity of our diamond is not in question.”

“I’m a _real_ freak,” he says quietly, and it hurts to hear his usual belligerence so absent. “Outside the spectrum _and,_ I, I don’t even know, what was I supposed to be, Kanaya? What the fuck am I?"

"You're Karkat Vantas," you say, and you know that he probably won't understand, not right now, but it's still the answer. He's shaking by your side, though he may not know it himself, looking down at his body though he remains mostly clothed.

"I don't even look in _mirrors_ without something over my thorax unless I haven't got a choice for some reason. I haven’t got any fucking fins or god knows whatever other weird body parts seadwellers probably have, I just have these goddamned _things_ and they don’t even work, and…”

“And?” You think you know where this is going, but he needs to be the one to say it, to tell someone how he really feels about this with his own words. The issues that you've dealt with yourself, things you've spoken to Rose about, have taught you that sometimes it's critical to be the one talking, that expressing a problem using one's own voice can impose limits on feelings that seemed before to be limitless.

“Nothing about this hideous fucking aberration is even _useful_. At least if they, if they w-worked, I mean… I don’t _know_ , but it’d be better than _this shit_. They’re completely worthless.” A few seconds pass, and you certainly don’t tell him that, pressed side to side as you are, you can feel the very organs he’s speaking of moving beneath his camisole. It's impossible not to recall the fact that, devastating as it may be, leaving Alternia truly was the correct decision for the both of you, though it goes double for Karkat. He inhales, tries to speak, doesn't quite manage to, starts over again with the sort of breath that can only mean some outburst of emotion is moments from release.

“ _I’m a mutant and_ _even that part of me is broken_ ,” he says, and then his face is in his hands in a failed attempt to halt the onset of sobs, and for you, not that your own feelings ought to be particularly important right now, the worst part is the way that you cannot really empathize with what he's feeling, as much as you'd like to convince yourself that you could. Your own mutation is nothing like his and has never been anything _but_ useful. Were it possible for you to suffer enough to _truly_ understand what he's feeling, you would do so in an instant; you would suffer ten times whatever it is that he feels, were it necessary to allow you to _know_ and not merely _care_.

It's not so difficult to ensure that the tears on your own cheeks remain silent. There’s really no point in letting him know how badly it hurts you to see him hurting this way. Karkat Vantas is far from a mystery to you in most ways, and there’s no doubt it would only make him feel even worse; for all that he acts as though the world and its inhabitants are infuriating to him and little more, you're not sure you've ever known anyone, troll or human, who, when given the space to think, cares as deeply about others as he does. You wonder if he will ever find a balance, a state of mind that he can be comfortable with that allows him to more easily show what he's feeling to anyone who isn't you. It would be a lovely thing, and it would certainly make _your_ life easier.

You also wonder if you will ever have any real value to the world as something other than _that_   _forgettable_ _girl who tries very hard to take care of others._ It all comes back to Rose now, of course, your great puzzle, the stupid hope that you actually  _are_ good enough for her and her assurances to that effect are genuine, that she will not, at any random moment, finally realize that you aren't nearly as intelligent as she's convinced herself you are and then leave you behind. Living through the agony of a mere shattered adolescent flush-crush was hard. A shattered flushed  _relationship_ might be more than you know how to survive.

“You are _not_ broken," you murmur, setting certain thoughts aside for a more appropriate time. "Please come here." It’s not long before his head is in your lap, as it tends to be when he’s having one of his more serious breakdowns. It’s critical to manage this situation properly and allowing your own tears to fall on him would be quite foolish, so you wipe you face as clean as you can as he shakes and clutches you, arms around your abdomen. Sometimes you think that he seems almost a wriggler, in a manner that is in no way meant to be insulting; beneath the armor that doesn't fit him nearly as well as he likes to think it does, there are still strong echoes of the frightened and lonely little thing he once was, and, in a few ways, still is. You aren’t quite sure what the feelings this gives you are. Pale, certainly, but there’s something more, something you’re not sure you have a word for and that is certainly nothing flushed, let alone ashen or pitch. Perhaps an outside perspective could be useful; it's entirely possible that humans could offer some insight, considering their vastly different social and romantic norms. A mental note, then, to speak with Rose or Dave on the subject at some point in the future. Actually, no, just Rose. You're really not sure anything her sibling might say would be helpful or even coherent.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, muffled by your shirt, “I’m sorry, please, please don’t leave me, Sunshine, I’ll be better, I promise, so please don’t…” His gills twitch rapidly as you try to decipher what he could possibly be talking about _now_ and a wave of pale heat moves through you. How long has that nickname been waiting to come out? You’re extraordinarily glad that he can’t see your involuntary, inappropriate, and absurdly bashful smile. His cheek is cool as you stroke it slowly, but not so close to cold as it was during and immediately after your own confession. There really is no way to be sure if this is a good sign somehow or if it means nothing at all.

“What do you mean by ‘better?’” He’s slowly calming; it will take some time, and this won’t be a one-time problem. No, this will stick. This will haunt him for a very, very long time, and you can't help but worry about what might happen after you leave to take care of your business for the evening.

“’m a shitty moirail, I’m never there for _you_ , ‘s been a quarter sweep and you’ve needed me, what, five or six times? I’m not giving anything _back_ , but I want to, you know I pity you and I don’t want to… mmff…” The claw-trailing trick, which you’re really quite proud of thinking up even though you can’t possibly be the first troll ever to do so, is proving to be extraordinarily effective; when he did it back to you, however briefly, the feeling was nearly beyond belief. You take your other hand and use that set of claws to gently scritch at the spot on his neck just above where his hair gives way to less sensitive dermis, watching him come down (or perhaps come up), feeling his poor gills twitch more and more slowly.

“I will never, ever leave you,” you say, “and I would have no other palemate in the universe. You’ve done the best that you could, and we both know that.” He doesn’t respond, really, just nuzzles into your abdomen, which must feel quite warm to him. “Dearest… you are not all right. Ever since we arrived here, I’ve watched you fall apart. It took you a quarter of a sweep to _leave our hive_ and my guess is that you only did so because it had to do with, ah, keeping yourself alive.”

“So what,” he mumbles. “’m trying… went out today, didn’t I? What else is there to do?”

“I’m not sure,” and you wish that you had something better to say than this, anything. “But I’ll endeavor to find out.” His breathing’s become smooth, automatic, gills calm, the occasional twitch more what you're used to feeling when close to him as opposed to anything triggered by distress. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Nngghhhnnoooo,” he says, and you let out a small questioning snort. “’kay, maybe jus’ a little bit…” Poor Karkat. A lot seems to have happened today and he must be exhausted, particularly after the ‘revelation’ of his gills. Truth be told, you’re surprised by how well this went; you suppose that there’s probably a great deal of relief in having your deepest secret and worst fear exposed and then discovering that everything is still, in fact, perfectly fine. And that there’s no need to actually die over it, that probably contributes just a bit.

“If I go somewhere in a minute, will you promise me that you won’t do anything foolish? You won’t hurt yourself, or Skaia forbid try to cull yourself? That you will simply sleep?”

“Don’ want you to go,” and your bloodpusher aches at the words, but there’s something you have to do and putting it off even one more night might rob you of the nerve to do it at all.

“I know, but I have to. Not just yet, but in a few minutes. Now, do you _promise_ me?”

“I promise,” he says, “won’ hurt myself, won’t do anything to make you sad.”

And you thought your bloodpusher was aching _before_.

You stay there for a few minutes as promised, until you think that he might actually be asleep, and carefully slip away, rummage through his things until you find, oh, _well_ then, moving on and ignoring the heat and green that must be coloring your cheeks, you continue the rummaging until you find his sopor tablets, bring him one with a glass of water, and nudge him awake just enough to get him to swallow it. The last thing he needs now is unmitigated dayterrors. Or should it be night terrors, here?

“Pity you,” he slurs as you’re about to leave, and he weakly holds up a hand.

“Pity you,” you repeat, and touch his outstretched pair of digits with your own before stroking his cheek one last time, setting the glass of water on his, what was the name, the piece of furniture that sits next to a bed. Before leaving the hive, you stop in the common area for a moment.

“Dave,” you say to your other hivemate, who nods slightly without turning to look at you. “I know that you and my moirail don’t exactly get along, but would you do me a favor and… check in on Karkat, once in a while before you go to sleep? I’m worried that he might wake up and do something stupid.”

“Depressed alien suicide watch, got it,” he replies. “You don’t even _know_ how hard I’ll creep on that dude for you. Hell, I’ll flash step out and look in his fuckin’ window like a ninja abusin’ his mad skills to spy on unconscious mouthy assholes. For you I will become a _shadow_. A shadow that’s also, like, concerned about his roommate or whatever.”

“Concerned?” You smirk and let it show through your tone. “And here I was thinking the two of you were practically enemies.”

“Ah, fuck off,” Dave says, and you know that you’ve hit him in some weak spot if that's all he can manage as a comeback. “You owe me one, Maryam. Someday I’m callin’ in this favor. Gonna have to help me dump some poor asshole all caked up in dryin’ concrete into a river or somethin’. Get a grave ain’t nobody ever gonna find all set up underwater and everything, like, full on Nova Sicilia before Enzo got it rollin’ all classy as fuck. Man, I would make an _awesome_ mafia pizza delivery dude, how did I not realize that until just now? My eyes have been _opened_ to my true potential.”

“Then I will prepare myself to dump some poor asshole encased in rapidly solidifying ferrocrete without a complaint in order to further your nebulously nefarious agenda. You need only say the word.” As you walk toward the door, which is lucky to still be on its hinges, really, after a certain mighty huntress’s dramatic entrance and exit, he extends an arm upward, hand curled into a fist. You roll your eyes and complete the ritual, rather glad that you’ve observed it taking place between humans and comprehend the general meaning.

When you’re outside and have turned back to shut the door, Dave’s face is as impassive as ever, but you’d swear that you can sense something like a smile hiding beneath his dual shields of sunglasses and ‘irony.'

You really don’t think you’ll ever stop finding it hilarious that the human species suffers from every bit as severe a hipster infestation as Alternia.


	15. Act 2-2: Blacklit Hearts (Sylph 2/3)

_i dreamed the world with my eyes open_

_but time moved on and then new worlds begin again_

_oh my heart, in this universe so vast_

_no moment was made to last, so light the fire in me_

_shine, shine your light on me_

[ _vnv nation - nova_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbCIg3UbjNg)

 

* * *

 

It takes a few tries of course, but you manage to find a land-based transportation service vehicle whose driver is willing to let a troll into his strange little wheeled rectangle, ducking your head a bit in the rear seating compartment to keep your horns from scraping against the ceiling; you really don't need yellow-band sensations right now and you doubt the man would appreciate the inevitable damage.

The streets of the human city are strange during both day and night, crowded with life, but most of what you notice apart from the unsettling sense of peace that is at worst tentative is the color. Perhaps you're ridiculous, but it really is wonderful living in a place where land dwellers wear clothing that actually incorporates _colors_ , as odd as it is that only some humans seem to show their signs. You'll have to ask Rose about that, and as much as she is accommodating it would be a great help to know more than one human who is anything resembling a useful source of information.

Hivestems and stratuspiercers slide by in jolts as the operator of the vehicle follows a deceptively complex navigation protocol to avoid colliding with any other objects, and while you still require focus to keep your head and horns down, your perceptions melt your surroundings into a strange panorama that you may never truly get used to.

Finally you arrive at Rose's hive and the human driver requests something within the usual insulting range of possible remuneration. There is really nothing to do but smile and hand over some human currency. When you happen to meet his eyes, he narrows them and a little spark of anger rises in your thorax.

"Is there a problem?" Your tone is precisely the even level necessary to communicate the question you're actually asking. He glares and motions for you to exit the vehicle.

"Whatever," he says; you think that if he were a troll, his secondary vocal chambers might be letting out a low growl. "Money's good and nobody starts shit, there's no problem. You want there to be a problem?"

"Certainly not," you say, and you've barely stepped onto the ferrocrete paving blocks when the door slams shut and the vehicle roars out into the night. There is one point you must concede to Vriska: most humans utterly despise your kind.

Your matesprit opens her door a mere second before your claw would have pressed the small white circle that you've deduced is there to allow visitors to announce themselves without pounding on the door itself and rousing the aggression and defensive instincts of a hive's potential inhabitants. Such devices might be able to save quite a few lives back home.

In this situation, most people, Alternian or human, might extend an invitation to enter or perhaps offer a greeting. Rose Lalonde simply smiles, takes your hand and leads you through the door. Something low in your abdomen has become very warm and slightly squirmy; as far as you're aware this is simply a consequence of being in the vicinity of your matesprit. You think it would be rather nice if you felt like this all of the time.

Rose has a single hivemate, though you have never seen the person and know nothing about them. The door to their respiteblock is always closed, and you're never really even sure whether Rose and yourself are alone in the hive or not.

Tonight that door is open and as you walk the hall toward Rose's respiteblock the same way you have many times before, you can't help but glance inside, and when you do you're struck by something like ice-cold lightning.

Somehow, against all logic, your matesprit's hivemate is Vriska Serket.

You swallow hard, eyes wide, and have no idea what to feel when you realize a few seconds later that despite the spectacular resemblance, the woman sitting on the edge of her bed is not, in fact, your ex-flushcrush. Too many things are different here; there are no absurd posters, no dice scattered across the floor. She wears black jeans where the troll you know wore _pants_ , a cerulean shirt that you frankly find to be a rather decent garment. Her glasses are shaped in a way that would not suit Vriska in the least, her hair shorter and oddly well-kept for a female's; there is in fact a hint of androgyny to her. But the sign, though white against the blood color worn everywhere else on her torso, is Vriska's, her horns completely identical, if perhaps slightly larger. The thick rings around her pupils, color matching her shirt, mark her as at least a sweep older.

It is both a comfort and highly disturbing that whoever this troll is, she appears as shocked to see you as you are to see her. The both of you realize, over a few silent seconds, that neither of you is the troll the other thought she was. No words are spoken, and you move to catch up with Rose when this Vriska look-alike turns away.

The small twinkle of silver that hung from her neck, you realize, looked very strangely similar to Karkat's sign. But that makes even less sense than everything else you've just seen. Your moirail is on your mind and the mind is excellent at seeing things that are not actually there.

You're weirdly relieved as you enter Rose's block and shut the door. Your matesprit's smile fades slightly, and can that actually be a hint of concern making itself visible?

"Are you alright?", she asks, and when you don't answer, "To abuse a painfully ancient cliche, you look as though you've seen a ghost." You're not surprised, and you work on breathing more steadily and riding out the vicious thumping of your agitated bloodpusher.

"It's nothing," you manage eventually. "Your hivemate... she reminds me..." It's difficult not to be angry with yourself for trailing off. You fight fang and claw through much of your life to keep up with Rose, who seems to have never been at a loss for words a single time in her life. Failures like this are what will eat away at the foundation of your quadrant, give away the game of your insufficient intellect even sooner than you know it will eventually give itself away on its own. "She is remarkably similar in appearance to someone I used to know, and I suppose I was caught off guard."

Those last three words, you realize, are yet another chip at the pillar you cannot seem to keep intact, and you know that she must see this; she is more like a troll than any other human you've met, and while the sight of _some_ weakness is necessary for proper pity, too much has been the death of countless quadrants (and the deaths of many trolls culled by former matesprits).

"Sit next to me," she says, and so you do.

She doesn't speak immediately and you take the opportunity to change the subject to something that is much of why you've come here tonight, apart from simply wishing to spend time with her, which is quite a bit more normal.

"Blossom," you say a bit slowly, attempting to reign in your nerves, "A while back, when Karkat was... ill, you were in my hive with full knowledge of the situation before anyone had the chance to tell you that a situation even existed." She opens her mouth and you cut her off. "Please don't insult me with any sort of lie or misdirection; I did not miss the fact that you were ready to open your door before I could even announce my arrival, an arrival which I had not told you was coming." A deep breath for a few simple words. "Rose, I need to know what you're not telling me, and I need the truth."

Rose looks at you for a while, longer than you'd like, and there is no smile on her face, not even the usual _'I know something you don't'_ one that as far as you're aware is her default state of being. This continues far too long for comfort. You don't care much at all for the churning in your abdomen; you much prefer the pity heat that has been, for the moment, overridden. If you know her as well as you'd like to think you do, she's thinking very hard about something, and the fact that she has to think about whether to be honest with you is quite frankly rather hurtful.

That hurt is swiftly forgotten when, after a moment of something you've never seen on her before -- something like actual _sadness_ \-- she leans in and kisses you, a sweet sort of kiss and not the kind that leads to more intense flushed activities. You discover that it is actually possible for gut churning anxiety to move over a bit and share some abdominal space with those lovely pityflies that are frankly most of what keeps you sane.

"I've been waiting for this," she says, "for quite some time. Kanaya, something strange and enormous is happening. I am a part of it, and even if you had never met me, you would still be a part of it too. Even so, the answer will change you: it changes everything and nothing all at once, though I suspect that in the future, there will be a great deal less _nothing_ and much more _everything_."

She runs one of her blunt claws along the curve of your clavicle, your neck, and the shiver blanks out your confused, rising fear.

"Whatever future awaits us, there is no escaping its grasp. We may fail to comprehend its nature, but what matters is that _we must not fail to try_. I myself have done a great deal of research, though what my roommate and I have learned can be no more than the slightest hints about our purpose, our very nature."

"Rose," you say, unsure whether to be frustrated or concerned, "You've managed to use a very impressive number of words to tell me absolutely nothing."

Her laugh is quiet, subdued, the same way it always has been. She takes your hand, raises it to her lips, and plants a small kiss on its back.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself," she says, and with the words you realize that she is in fact shimmering very slightly, as though her dermis were made of some mildly reflective material, catching colors and bouncing different ones back. "Rose Lalonde, the Seer of Light, at my lady's service."

This really has turned out to be quite the strange day, and you decide to wait a while before inquiring about what may or may not be the revelation that your alien matesprit is in fact some rare variety of psionic.

"Blossom, I'm sorry, but you've still told me nothing--" your primary vocal chamber hitches as she grasps your hand and then tugs, turning you toward her, then takes hold of the other. When her violet eyes, caught in the same strange faint rainbow of light as the rest of her, lock themselves with yours, you discover that an impressive number of your internal organs have been transmuted into yet more highly agitated pityflies; it's something of a wonder that you are not only alive but still subject to the laws of gravity despite what you're certain are thousands of tiny wings beating throughout your body in place of muscles, bones, and viscera.

"Allow me to explain, then," she says. "Let us begin with a rather salient fact: magic is, in fact, real." After a few seconds of your dizzy stare and spun-out thinkpan failing to supply you with a response, she continues. "Well, perhaps. There is much, much testing left to do, and really, entrancing though it may be, what is 'magic' other than science we don't yet understand? Regardless, I am a Seer, which may or may not be a magical thing. Certainly it's unusual; even psionic abilities are spectacularly rare for my species, and though I find limits to my power, malleable and eroding but ever-present, no concept of over-exertion exists. Indeed, this power costs me absolutely nothing, which frankly raises as many questions as its existence in the first place."

There is a moment during which your digestive sac seems to drop out of your body because there is something terribly wrong with your matesprit's mind, and then you recall something terrifying from a very, very long time ago: green light, the nightmarish cacaphony of dozens of dying screams released in unison, a troll only eight sweeps old sitting upon the very throne of the Empire.

You decide that it might be in your best interest to give Rose a chance to better explain herself, ideally with less florid vernacular and more direct information. Of course, that is one of the things you pity most about her, the way that despite her beauty, charm, intellect, and probable lethality, your matesprit is almost as trapped in an eternal state of laying siege to the hedge as her brother. Obviously you are not her moirail, but it pains you sometimes, wondering whether Rose is even capable of leaving her meticulously crafted and maintained labyrinth of words. Further on the subject of diamonds, you wish dearly that she _had_ a moirail; human social structures might lead one to believe that Dave fulfills that quadrant in everything but name, but the reality could not be further from the truth. If anything, the two feed off each other, drag each other deeper and deeper into a shared spiral of tangents, monologues, and emotional oblivion.

As tempting as it is to attempt to _find_ her a moirail, emulating one of any number of characters from the parade of romance-oriented media that you once endured (and, you will admit, sometimes enjoyed) on a regular basis before Karkat sequestered himself in his block, you would simply have no idea where to begin, and you haven't forgotten the nightmarish and obliterating quadrant tangles such behavior might invoke.

"Ms. Maryam, I believe you've lost yourself rather thoroughly in thought, and loathe as I may be to tear you away, there is still much to explain." Blinking hard, your thinkpan snaps mostly back into place, and you enjoy a few moments of clarity before your mind and body remember just what position you're currently in and control is handed, once again, to the pityflies that may in fact be consuming you from the inside out.

"Yes, of course, I apologize." It's a needle in your dreams, the difficulty you're having with communication at the moment, and those pityflies nearly wilt into worry and despair over this quadrant doomed by your own inadequacy before she squeezes your hands again, just slightly warmer than you (something that surprised you when you first met her, given the color of her eyes), and you're partially consumed again by the nearly painful degree to which you pity this incredible creature. "Please continue."

She smiles wider than usual, enough to show teeth, and you think that if she were a troll with proper fangs, none among the living could see her expression and not be simultaneously terrified and aroused.

"As a Seer it is my duty to _know;_ as a Seer of _Light,_ the domain of chance, luck, probabilities, it is my duty to glimpse the likelihood of various outcomes relating to the decisions made by myself and my allies. To provide an example: on the night you referred to earlier, I had divined two most interesting things. First, that your moirail appears, by the vagaries of fate and chance alike, to be counted as an 'ally' and thus must by necessity be among our number, and second, that were I not to intervene there would be a troublingly precise one hundred percent chance of his death before morning."

"I... he was going to die?" This, dumbly and flustered, is all that you can say. It is fascinating how consistently you disappoint yourself.

"Yes, and perhaps even more concerning, his potential death would have triggered a causal cascade with a ninety eight point six five four one three percent chance of ending in both your death and my own. This really was not an outcome I considered acceptable; I can only assume you agree."

You can't bring yourself to disbelieve her, as much as that might be the more logical reaction. Beneath that grin so potent and unsettling that it is probably second only in extremity to a certain tealblood's, you're almost sure you can see something like... could that really be worry? Surely not, not from her.

But it is, and there's no point in convincing yourself you're seeing something that is not there, because you are Kanaya Maryam, and Kanaya Maryam makes it her business to see what others are feeling. There are so many things happening at once now that your thinkpan is dissolving into something like flashing blocks of static. You watch her, waiting for whatever comes next. The answer is nothing you could have anticipated.

"... Do you trust me?", Rose Lalonde says, carefully and quietly, and this, this is what pushes you over the edge. As far as you can recall this is the very first time in roughly one hundred and twenty days of matespritship that she has shown the slightest bit of weakness. She's not smiling any more, not now that she's said those words; her expression could almost be mistaken for her brother's in its sheer blankness.

"Of course I do," and something seems to slip in the entirety of her posture, subtle but not the sort of thing one misses after learning to read the husk speech of your moirail. It's very simple. It is the relief of tension and anxiety.

"What's wrong?", she asks, her thumb brushing from your cheek a thin line of jade you hadn't even noticed.

She knew this. Perhaps she always knew; probably she has been whatever she is for longer than she's known you, and she has also known that you are a part of whatever it is that's happening, a thing she still has not defined in the least. She knew, and she didn't speak a word of it until you asked. You think of Karkat long ago, of things hidden for foolish reasons, of small stings of betrayal that nonetheless hurt like knives. It isn't hard to understand why, to know that it's unfair to place blame, but the bloodpusher always overpowers the thinkpan and so all that you can focus on is the fact that _she knew and she didn't tell you._

"Nothing is wrong," you say, and then you kiss her and you don't stop for quite a while.

When the both of you are rather out of breath and also beginning to realize that one more brush against the red bands of your horns or one more measured rake of claw up her back will result in missing clothes and stained sheets, you pull apart. The pink flush in her cheeks always surprises you a bit; you simply cannot overcome your expectation of violet.

"You said that you trust me," her thorax heaving slightly. "Then I will trust _you_ to be calm and understand that you _cannot_ understand, not in this moment. Not until you've woken up."

"I am fairly certain that I'm awake, as much as circumstances ought to suggest otherwise," you say, failing to hide your unease.

"Yes, obviously. But you need to be _awake_ , and you aren't. What awakens us seems different for everyone, mandated by each individual destiny, but I worry that whatever is coming may give us less time to prepare than we need, and so, if you'll allow me, I am going to cheat."

Flashes of letters replaced by numerals, blood and disaster, bitter cerulean words. But this is not her. This is the girl who pities you. You think of your life: a spider left behind and a rose embraced, thorns and all. She will not harm you. You must believe in that.

"Then cheat," you say, and memory brings out an odd and forceful thing that you don't entirely understand, echoes of someone you think you might once have been, when a certain other held so much influence over your mind, if, luckily, only metaphorically. "If destiny stands in our way, let us _break it._ " Your abdomen is lurching, churning, pityflies wreathing themselves in the violet light and heat of a thousand flammable tallow cylinders.

Rose smiles and activates her strife specibus.

The taste of blood trickles across your tongue as your fangs jab into your lower lip and you wrestle down the explosive roar of instinct telling you to reply in kind. In each of her hands you see what strike you as strange weapons to choose: long black needles inlaid with ornate swirls of silver. Their appearance seems less suited to killing and more to usage in strange and arcane rituals.

"Stay perfectly still," she says, and though you can't erase the primal fear or stop your claws from shaking as they dig through layers of sheets, you hold the rest of you steady, because if trusting Rose Lalonde ends with your death, then your life was already over long ago and prolonging it would be pointless anyway.

There is a word humans sometimes use differently than trolls that applies to their absurd standard model of romance. To you it's a strange usage; to her, you think, it will mean more than any Alternian equivalent, and she will understand that you understand what you're saying, why you made this specific choice.

"I love you," you say, the words strange through your implant's language adjustments, slightly heavy inside your oral cavity as your tongue carries out motions that correspond not to the signals sent by your thinkpan but to those signals reinterpreted by the thing curled around and inside your lobestem.

"I know," she says, and gently presses a needle's tip to your forehead.

When you fall you see that she is already moving to catch you, and as everything fades swiftly to black, you can almost swear that you hear the sidereal refrain of shattering glass.


	16. Act 2-3: Skaia's Chosen (Sylph 3/3)

_four in the morning, should they wake up or see them precious in this sleep?_

_every step should break the same, with every move and every need_

_so run, little children, play_

[ _coheed and cambria - mother may i_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGtoYOUvP48)

 

* * *

 

A sea of light, painful white-gold pulsing in time to the penetrating bass thump of an irregular heartbeat. Disoriented, you try to turn your head, but this is impossible because, as you realize slowly and with a strange sort of horror, you don't have a head; in fact, you don't have anything. Quickly you begin to panic, and then it strikes you that there is nowhere to panic _to_ , no escape route for one lacking a body, lacking even veins to accommodate the epinephrine that must somehow be present to account for this growing terror. Then, all at once and without warning, you

 

_seefeelheartouchtasteknowthinkbecomelearnare_

__seefeelheartouchtasteknowthinkbecomelearnare_ _

_seefeelheartouchtasteknowthinkbecomelearnare_

__seefeelheartouchtasteknowthinkbecomelearnare_ _

* * *

 

** K A N A Y A - - - - M A R Y A M **

** A L T E R N I A N - - H Y B R I D - - O R G A N I S M **

****

** C L A S S - - A S S I G N M E N T - - - - S Y L P H **

** A S P E C T - - A S S I G N M E N T - - - - S P A C E **

**! ! - - C O N T A M I N A T I O N - - D E T E C T E D - - ! ! **

** A N A L Y S I S - - A N D - - R E S T O R A T I O N - - I N I T I A T E D **

** D R E A M S E L F - - P U R I F I C A T I O N - - C O M P L E T E **

****

** A W A K E N - - H E R O - - O F - - P R O S P I T **

** T O - - T H E - - R A N K S - - O F - - S K A I A ' S - - C H O S E N **

****

** A S - - T H E - - S Y L P H - - O F - - S P A C E **

** T H O U - - S H A L T - - M E N D - - T H A T - - W H I C H - - I S - - B R O K E N **

****

** M A S T E R - - T H Y S E L F - - A N D - - T H I N E - - A S P E C T **

** T H U S - - S H A L L - - T H E - - D O O R - - B E - - O P E N E D **

****

** A L L - - S H A L L - - A B I D E - - B Y - - T H I S - - L A W : **

** T H E - - A W A K E N E D - - W H O - - W O U L D - - S L A Y - - T H E - - A W A K E N E D **

** S H A L L - - B E - - M A R K E D - - A S - - T H E - - P R E Y - - O F - - H E R O E S **

** A N D - - V E N G E A N C E - - S H A L L - - B E - - S A N C T I O N E D - - AS - - J U S T **

****

**! ! D A T A - - C O R R U P T I O N - - D E T E C T E D ! ! **

**! ! D A T A - - R E S T O R A T I O N - - U N S U C C E S S F U L ! ! **

**! ! E R R O R - - C O D E - - 4 1 3 ! ! **

****

* * *

 

When you open your eyes, you blink against daylight before your pupils adjust, giving you an opportunity to examine your surroundings and perhaps attempt to make some sense of the situation. Warm yellow rays pour in through large open windows, bouncing off of golden floors and walls in a round, empty room reminiscent of the top floor of your old hive on Alternia, and the impression is only strengthened when you pick yourself up from the floor and see a spiral staircase oriented downward. You take a deep breath and are pleasantly surprised by the unfamiliar and welcome presence of air that appears to be entirely or almost entirely free of smog or any other easily noticeable atmospheric contaminants. A certain sense of peace that you can't remember feeling ever before circulates throughout your body. It's rather nice, really.

Then you remember the words burned into your lobestem, attempt to process and make sense of them, and sit back down.

Frankly, you're not even sure where to begin, though at least you'll have plenty of time to think on the subject; those words, few and vague as they are, do not feel new to you in the slightest. In fact, you can't help but feel that they have somehow _always_ been in your mind, that they are a part of you in a powerful and primal way, intrinsic to your very self. Intellectually you know that this is not true, that whatever just happened is in the present, that you can't possibly have contained this information within yourself throughout the entirety of your existence.

It would make you feel much better if you really _were_ certain of this overriding intellectual awareness.

First things first, however, or... first things second in this instance, you suppose. Alternian 'hybrid organism'? One thing you are _quite_ certain of is that you are a troll, and you really have no idea what that could mean. Something about those words leaves you deeply uncomfortable, and as much as mulling them over more could potentially be useful, you decide to do so later.

You have apparently been assigned a 'class' and 'aspect', whatever that means. The Sylph of Space? What on Alternia do these things actually signify? Then you remember what Rose said to you shortly before she did... whatever it is that she did to you. She told you that she was 'the Seer of Light.' Logic follows that she experienced something similar to this in the past, and that the title is her 'class' and 'aspect'. The word 'class' bothers you; it makes you think of times long past, games for vicious children, games for spiders and those doomed to their razor webs.

The next part is actually much worse. _Contamination?_ What this could mean is beyond you, but the idea that you are (were?) somehow 'contaminated'... You do your best to console yourself with the apparent fact that this issue has been in some way resolved, or at least, that is what you interpret from these words in   t h e   l i g h t l e s s   i n f i n i t y   b e f o r e   y o u   h a t c h e d   a n d   b e y o n d   y o u r   d e a t h ,  t h e   s p i r a l s   o f   f a t e   t h a t   m a k e   u p   y o u r   b e i n g ,   i n t e r t w i n ed   e f f l u v i u m   o f   t h e

You shake your head. Blanking out like that is not exactly normal for you, and the distinct feeling that you just lost an unknown amount of time is troubling, but there are honestly far _more_ troubling things to consider. What in the world is a 'dreamself?' It did feel as though you were falling asleep or perhaps simply passing out before you suddenly arrived in this strange place, but if this is a dream it is the most vivid one you can imagine.

It would also appear that you are, or at least are considered by... _something_ , to be a 'hero,' a hero of... o f . . .

p r o s p i t ?

What? The thoughts racing through your pan are outrageous and you work to quell them immediately before absurdity overtakes you and leaves you nothing but a superstitious fool. Standing back up is not too difficult, and neither is walking to the nearest window and looking out to see...

Gold and light, shining structures and towers, distant figures moving through glittering streets of decadent paving below, and above, a stunning light almost like a small sun partially obscured by shifting iridiscent clouds in which you think that, impossibly, you see faint images of strange places and stranger people. It _is_ absurd, it _is_ the height of superstition, but denial leads only to misery (poor, bitter Karkat is evidence enough of that) and there is only one conclusion to come to.

You are on Prospit, the world of the honored dead, where the souls of those few not deserving of torment and oblivion rest, and from this golden tower you are seeing nothing other than Skaia itself. It would appear that legends and mythology may in fact be more than most assume. No, they must in fact based upon some unfathomable truth, or else nothing you're seeing makes any sense at all.

Before you even have time to really think about it you're rapidly descending the staircase, winding your way toward the ground. When you open the door at the bottom, you are amazed to find that there is yet more here to amaze you. The road that curves around the tower -- your tower? -- is not empty. Alabaster creatures (aliens? divine beings?) in bright clothing walk the bright yellow bricks, some of them perhaps male and others perhaps female, to judge only by appearances, which you would rather not do if possible. The largest you see are just ever so slightly taller than Karkat, perhaps five feet and three inches in total, and the particularly small seem to be children, some playing together and others shepherded by what you presume to be surrogate lusii, or perhaps something similar to human 'parents'.

And then one of them sees _you_ , halts wide-eyed and thunderstruck, and calls out to others, elation in (her?) odd and silky voice. Within moments a small crowd has gathered near you, all of them looking as nervous as you feel, though they at least seem to have some idea of what's happening. After a minute or two of peculiar semi-awkward quiet, a member of the gathering ventures to approach you as others watch, apparently impressed by (his? her?) bravery.

"H-hello," she says, gender perhaps confirmed by voice. A tri-colored dress hangs well on her oddly-jointed body, blue, green, and yellow stacked over reflective plates of what might be white chitin. A rather pretty sort of headwrap in stripes of pastel pink surrounds small black eyes and an anxious smile. "We've all wondered when the dreamer in this tower might wake, and so..." She takes a deep breath, clearly struggling for the courage to continue. "On behalf of the people of the planet and this moon, welcome to Prospit, most noble Hero." A silence ensues and you try to think of any way at all to respond, but you are spared the need for expedience by a slow rising wave of applause from the rest of the... the Prospitians? Once it dies down, you smooth out the bright golden dress you've only just noticed you're wearing, an old nervous habit of your own. The small woman seems to recognize the meaning behind the gesture, as her smile shifts from worry to what seems to be an attempt at reassurance, though the effect is rather muted by her own even more nervous demeanor.

"Thank you," you reply, the awkwardness and simple surreality of the situation nearly leaving you devoid of proper manners. "My name is Kanaya. Might I ask yours?" Her eyes grow wide and she wrings her plated hands together with a slight clicking sound.

"Me? I'm no one important, really. The others in my neighborhood usually call me Ms. Paint. I, I'm a painter, you see, I... well, mostly I work on signs and... oh dear, I've begun to ramble, I'm terribly sorry, I beg your forgiveness!" Are those tears forming in her eyes? Oh no, this is nothing you want at all.

"No, please, there is nothing to forgive. To be quite honest I am feeling very lost at the moment. I don't wish to impose, but could I ask you the favor of... well, I'm not quite sure. I have a lot of questions, and perhaps you could answer a few? I'll do my best to remunerate you in some way --"

"No! I mean, yes, of course, my lady, anything you ask! Come this way, the street is no place for a Hero to stand and be gawked at, not that, not... I... there's nothing to pay back, the least I can do is... oh dear, oh dear." She's breathing very quickly, though not quite hyperventilating. The rest of the crowd is still staring in awe as though you're an amazing sight; you saw the same expression on newsfeeds, pasted across the faces of trolls in the presence of the old Empress long, long ago. You nod quickly and follow the poor creature as she darts along the road and eventually finds a more secluded space, a small but still resplendent sort of gazebo with a few empty chairs beneath its gold-lattice ceiling. After sitting across from her, you wonder where to begin. There are more questions to ask than you can count.

"What should I call you?" She stares with what appears to be a complete lack of comprehension. "I mean, what is your name?" Her little eyes widen, for all that actually means, and she seems to shrink into herself.

"My... name?" When she doesn't say any more, you nod. "Well, I, I don't really have a _name_. Only very important carapaceons have titles _and_ names, and here on Prospit, we use them even less than they do on Derse... Even those who have them keep their names closely guarded. The White King and... and... oh, dear." She looks as though she might cry again.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry if I upset you, it was not my intent --"

"Oh no, no, of course not, never you. It's just that... something very sad happened several generations ago, a good while by an adult's watch like mine, though the years must be less than a fleeting moment to the peramorphs. I can tell you what I know of the story, if you'd like." You're more concerned at this point about what might upset her than you are about this.

"If you will be alright in the telling, that would be nice, but please don't feel obligated." She stares at you yet again. You're beginning to wonder whether you're something almost akin to royalty here and finding that whatever the precise truth of the matter, you don't much like that at all.

If Karkat's body language is anything to by when it comes to others, then you also have a feeling that you're in for a very long story.

"Well, you see... The lower-worlds where the biarchs and their peramorphs live in their palaces... We used to be ruled by our White King and White Queen. No one knows _their_ names, although they must have them, but, ah. The King's responsibilities lay mostly with the wars and the Queen's with keeping watch over the law and the people. The Queen was much loved, you must understand. She was wise and kind and, and perhaps more loyal to her people than we were to her. But for some reason strange rumors began to surface, absurd ideas that the Queen was somehow working with agents of Derse, that she was planning to abandon her duties to the Door..." Ms. Paint is quiet for a while, lost in memory.

"One can only wonder as to the truth of things, but our Queen would never leave us!" Thin streams of transparent tears begin to run down her... cheeks? Facial plates, perhaps. You honestly aren't sure what to call her. "But they say she was seen outside the palace speaking with suspicious cloaked people, and then one day, without any warning, there were explosions on the lower-world, they were... they were truly awful. Even those of us like myself who didn't see them felt the tremors and the rattling of the chain. Hundreds of thousands died, and they say that the Queen and Derse's Archagent were responsible! That the Queen tried to flee to... _somewhere_ , the stories can't agree on where, and the palace was certainly damaged very badly. Only the King and one of our peramorphs survived. Soldiers hunted down the... the _'fugitives',_ and the peramorph who lived... much secrecy surrounds that one, we don't know whether it is male or female or even its _title_ , but it is still whispered that it was a secret tool of the royalty, an invisible killer who was to remove any traitors in our midst..." The poor thing actually looks frightened even to speak of this 'peramorph,' whatever that means, and she speaks in an anxious hush.

"It k-k-... killed her, along with the Archagent and other spies from Derse, and, and, and things have never been the same again, though I suppose it has only been four or five hundred years. The King does not leave the palace now, not even during the wars, and the edicts he hands down are harsher and colder than, than hers, and many of us still fear the last peramorph, because w-who could slay the Queen herself as well as the very _Archagent of Derse?_ It must still be among us, and sometimes... when, when a c-crime, when certain murders are committed, the guard will simply _overlook_ them, and most of the dead are those who... who spoke against the bi... the m-monarchy, it is called now. The age of the biarchy is over. Of course we know little of Derse, but some prisoners of war have claimed that Derse is no longer the same either, that without the Archagent their own biarchy is slowly losing control over their people." She removes a small cloth from a pocket in her dress and wipes the tears from her facial plates (you've decided to call them that, until or unless you have a better designation).

"I am sorry, Hero," Ms. Paint says, eyes turn down toward the table, "but I wonder sometimes if all of you awoke r-rather too late." Slowly a look of horror begins to wash over her sad, sweet little face, and she bursts into tears. "N-no no please, I'm so sorry, I beg your forgiveness, it is not my place to q-question the Heroes, it's not --"

Without thinking about it (which only makes it worse on several more levels than you'd like to count) you take a risk, a stupid and inappropriate one; you reach out and pat her shoulder in an attempt to calm or comfort. Her chitin is strange; smooth, somehow hard and pliable at the same time. You suppose it must be, to allow much freedom of movement, especially around the joints. And there you were thinking that trolls were a resilient race, when you don't even have armor literally built into your bodies.

"There's nothing to forgive, please do not cry. Everything is alright." Wet black beads turn to meet your gaze. "I am sorry. I know nothing of this world. Where I come from we thought that Prospit and Derse, Skaia, that they were myths. I don't really even know what it means that I'm a 'hero'. I am just one troll, and certainly not very heroic." You're pretty sure a heroic troll would not edge dangerously close to pale infidelity with a near-stranger, for one thing.

"We've heard the same from some of the other lunar heroes," she says, sniffling and wiping her face with a cloth from one of a number of pockets in her dress. It's hard not to wonder what else she has in there; some of them bulge just a bit, and you get the feeling this woman likes to be prepared for every situation. Her being the one -- carapaceon, did she say? -- to approach you from a reverent and unnervingly fearful crowd is starting to make more sense. "At least the - the Alternians so far. The Terrans have never heard of us at all. I don't know much about the lower-world heroes. They don't care so much about keeping us informed out here. Skaia forbid the peasantry be told what's happening in our own kingdom." Her voice starts to rise at the end, then she presses a hang over her mouth and looks quickly around. That word, Terran. She must mean the humans, but you've never heard them referred to that way.

"I notice you do not seem particularly happy about the monarchy," you say quietly. "You said all of this happened four or five hundred years ago? That seems quite a long time for a king to stay hidden from his people." She nods, though not as enthusiastically as seems appropriate for such a span of time.

"One of the Terrans said something like that," she says, and then her strange little eyes flick down in what looks like... shame? Perhaps? "He's one of the better known lunar Heroes, he's spoken to a lot of people and been kind. Last I saw him was during that conversation; we heard a commotion around the corner of the street, and he ran ahead to see what was happening. I wanted to follow, but I heard the voice of the... the Thief." You raise your brows rather than interrupt and feel slightly comforted by the fact that of the three sentient species you are now aware of, two of you do _not_ have strips of hair above your eyes. As with many human attributes, this is something that you are generally unsettled by but manage to find attractive on Rose. It is quite likely that Rose Lalonde is capable of making anything that is part of or attached to her body very, very attractive. "Are you okay? Did I say s-something wrong?" Skaia's light, but have you ever been distractable lately, or at least tonight. Frankly, you think you have every right to be a bit shatterpanned right now, all things considered.

"No, no, I apologize. All of this is a bit overwhelming and I am having some difficulties staying focused. Please, continue." She relaxes a bit. If you're supposed to be a 'hero', then why do these people seem so afraid of you?

"I would have helped, but, but the Thief is not kind to us, not like the Heir or the Page or..." She doesn't swallow, or at least not in the sense you're used to, but something happens that causes the plates on her neck to rattle downward. "She's k-killed, before. Not often, but..." Paint is beginning to brim over with tears again. She is an emotional little thing, but then, it certainly seems that she has every right to be. "She's stolen more than Light from us, and rumor is that she's planning something. Some even think she has designs on the throne, impossible as that must be. I think that..." Her voice lowers to what must be her species's equivalent of a whisper; nothing changes about it apart from its actual volume dropping significantly, as though she were on a viewscreen being tuned lower. "I think that if she were not a Hero, she would be dead by now. The last peramorph... I do not know the true strength of Heroes, but the King would never tolerate even a hint of such blatant enmity toward his rule."

"The Thief... of Light, I gather? I would hazard a guess that she is a troll." When met with a blank gaze, you try for a synonym. "She is Alternian, that is." Ms. Paint nods.

"What came over him I can't imagine, but once... a citizen became loose with his frustration when he was being rather interrogated, and she... she just clawed out his eyes and left him there bleeding in the street. Of course he lived, someone came to help him once she had gone, but..." She shudders.

"You helped him," you say without thinking, and are fairly certain it's true. Some of the things Ms. Paint claims that 'they say' seem a bit off to you, and you suspect that there is more going on here than she has been willing to say. "Didn't you? You were there, and that is why you are so afraid of her."

The little Prospitian shrinks into herself as much as her chitin will allow, not meeting your gaze.

"Yes, I suppose," she says, "but it's really not important who it was. I'm sure that someone else would have done something had I not."

It might be true that you are apparently hundreds of sweeps younger than her, but the way her eyes dart back and then away says clear as night that she knows just as well as you do that there are not very many people in the universe who will take charge of a bad situation; the vast majority simply move on and, if they are particularly kind-pushered, silently wish luck to that nebulous _someone else_ they're sure will have the time and inclination to stop and actually do something.

"I'm sorry to change the subject, and I am very grateful for the information you have taught me, but I must ask... what is it exactly that these 'Heroes' such as myself are meant to do? How, and why? And what is this 'door' that is apparently to be opened?" She sighs and then fixes you with a bitter smile.

"That... is not so simple as the state of affairs here on the moon." A slow breath and exhalation. "You see, before the Mage awoke, we had assumed that all of _you_ would know." Somehow you had a feeling that would be her answer, but you had rather hoped that you were wrong. You're about to ask her something further about the Thief and then, suddenly, you find yourself lightheaded and dizzy, invisible weights attemping to drag your eyes shut.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Ms. Paint says, "This is a very bad place to dreamwake." Your grasp of what's happening is dimming by the moment, but there's something a little bit different about the Prospitian. "We can't trust anyone here to help bring you back to your tower," she mutters, "certainly not, too few to trust on the outside..." It appears that you are falling asleep against your will, which probably means something.

As your vision fills with dark stars, you see the sweet little woman pull something from another pocket in her dress. A paintsweeper, old and worn from use. That makes sense, though you don't know how it's relevant to the situation, or why she's lifting it toward

 

* * *

 

A hand brushes a few hairs from your forehead, small, familiar, warm in an alien way you've somewhat grown accustomed to, and after blinking much of the haze of confusion from your eyes and mind, you manage to sit up.

"Welcome back to the land of the waking, Ms. Maryam," Rose says, threading a black strip of cloth through the pages of an equally darkly-bound book before snapping it shut and setting it aside. In the moment that you see its cover, you notice the small red blinking shoutpole above the words engraved there that indicates they are untranslatable; you don't need to dismiss the alert manually, since it disappears on its own as the letters leave your field of view.

"Rose," you say, slowly and carefully, "What is it, precisely, that a 'Sylph of Space' does?" She smiles for a moment, almost normally, before the return of that familiar terrifying grin that you are fairly certain she reserves exclusively for you and Dave.

"An excellent question," she says, placing a hand over yours, "And I expect we will have a _wonderful_ time searching for its answer." Though the strange scintillation you think you recall from earlier is no longer present, you can almost swear that her violet eyes are glowing. "But, if you are amenable to a different sort of search," other hand's thumb running along the _oh god_ bed of your right horn, "I think that we could have a wonderful time," right hand leaving your left to slip beneath the coxal band of your skirt, blunt claws tugging at underwear, "searching for some _other_ excellent things." A fang sinks into your lip as her fingertips stroke slowly along your bone sheath and you don't bother trying to stifle a small whimper.

You take a moment to think and decide that, all things considered, you're inclined to agree.

 

* * *

 

It's been quite an exciting day if you say so yourself, and you most certainly do. Now only one lunar Hero remains unawakened, and the latest was a very kind girl. You do so wish that you hadn't needed to lie to her about your last sighting of the Thief, but what good are you if you can't even keep one small secret? A painter must sometimes blot out things that don't contribute to the work, and a _master_ painter knows precisely where to run her brush to achieve the result she desires.

The Sylph sleeps curled up on a small bed in the corner of the room. You watch her for a moment and smile. There will be use for the Heroes yet, fleeting as the lives of their kind tend to be, and you permit yourself to hope that this one at least won't have to die young. Twenty two or so years old, you imagine, same as all of the lunar Heroes. It's still strange to know that the great prophesied Heroes you all waited so very long for would barely have left the Facilities had they been born Prospitian. What were you like when you were twenty two? Probably not very exciting, you think, though you really can't say for sure; it's not easy to remember the details of things that happened so long ago.

Turning back to the canvas you've been toying with off and on for the last fifty thousand years, you examine your work intently before finally applying a single bright streak of jade.


	17. Act 2-4: The Tribulations of Shaggy 2 Dope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! ! ! ! TWO THINGS TO SAY HERE ! ! ! !
> 
> First, New Year has been made into a series. The other fic in the series (there will be several, each serving different purposes, and I'll try to announce in notes when they're created) is actually a repository for short-ish side stories, bits of backstory; basically scenes that don't fit into the plot structure of New Year itself and aren't strictly necessary but that I really wanted to write/show and they might be worth taking a look at if you've actually gotten through the 16 chapters of this behemoth necessary to reach this note.
> 
> Second, sorry for this chapter being a bit short. There's going to be more of this POV, plenty more in the long run, but not at this specific moment. This is for a reason.
> 
> ! ! ! ! THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY THERE ! ! ! !

_time, time is a valuable thing_

_watch it fly by as the pendulum swings_

_watch it count down to the end of the day_

_the clock ticks life away_

[_rick astley - never gonna give you up_ ](http://tinyurl.com/ns8d9kl)

 

* * *

 

Is it weird to sort of want to be bros with the gay alien who's banging your sister? Is it weird-weird, or is it _Strider_ - _Lalonde_ weird? Technically it's the second thing by default, but last time you checked all your loans were in good shape, so who can really say? You're just gonna have to see where this goes; things always start out confusing in those ancient fish-out-of-water buddy cop movies John can't stop digging from their apparently too-shallow graves, they start out with things all awkward and unintentionally mutually offensive but then by halfway through the movie some shallow attempt at depicting cultural exchange and acceptance's already gone down, somebody's leaning out the side of a moving car with two Berettas, and _everyone_ is packing one-liners, including the supporting cast and the lady with the fruit stand that gets run over just before the oil truck explodes.

Eh, whatever. Now that she's out, though, you've got some space during the night, which is to say, appropriately ironically, the time of day you're most active. Usually you try to take advantage of this by doing your standard shit; if you don't have a gig you loiter in dark and non-work-related spots in clubs and do things like refuse to interact with anyone or move for hours at a time apart from turning your head slowly to follow anyone who walks by, keep in ninja-shape by doing such intense parkour you leave behind trails of shining grass with finely aged wooden benches occupied by elderly couples sparkling with the late-life remnants of true love, or if you're feeling anti-social you just hang out at Starbucks and steal their Wi-Fi while drinking simultaneously from multiple cups of expensive spiced root beer because you stand out so much just by being yourself that you might as well stand out so hard you're too obvious for anyone to commit a brutal faux pas by actively paying attention to you.

This one's a free night, but it's one of those free nights where someone would need major leverage and the application of gallons of inappropriately used astroglide to get you out the door. Or Jade, but that doesn't count because she's a goddamned cheater. It's not like you couldn't spin up something to do, you're just feeling too awesome to share yourself with the world at large. This actually means that you're tired and you don't feel like taking the risk of someone realizing that no, it's not just the lighting, that's just you, and if you had a dollar for every minute spent talking to people who are actual gasping crusty assholes or people who are _just politely interested_ you'd have almost as much money as Dirk makes in an hour: so much money that you can't actually have it all without just becoming a worthless piece of shit all day and rolling in all those Hillarys. You're pretty sure that asshole has a mountain of small bills in a secret room somewhere in his house and he sleeps on it like a dragon's hoard while his body drinks in the power of the incredible irony of Dirk Strider being buried in green paper portraits of not only a _woman_ but in fact the first female president of all these 30 scenic United States of Rich Jerks like he's Spongebob throwing himself into a desert oasis after weeks of getting all crispy and useless and then letting out a satisfied cartoon sigh once a body of water fifty times his size's been completely absorbed.

The Spongebob shit's probably on your mind just because earlier today you were thinking about how weirdly well that show's held up considering it's still airing after who knows how the fuck many years (you, you're the one who knows) when everything in your body sort of stuttered and then a wave of nausea and pain washed through your all of you. Awesome. That one was at least... you're not even actually sure, it hurt too much to think about it or pay it much attention, but that has to have been a year, probably longer. Next time you see Dave, you're going to punch you in the face, even if he's not the one personally responsible for this because if he isn't then he still will be later so it doesn't even matter. That total asshole, he'd better have been using that time so he could save someone's life or successfully wish for world peace, you know _you've_ never done anything this dick to a younger Dave, although you guess know you're going to at some point. God, future you is a selfish fuck.

At least a year, though. _Damn_ but is that ever the temporal equivalent of beachside California property. You try not to think about how likely it is that the Dave who had to spend it all doesn't exist anymore because of the sheer magnitude of the changes he must have caused. You don't do a great job of not thinking about it.

So to get your mind back on any topic but that, you're going to poke at your secret project, the sibling antimatter, the Shakespearehemmingway jungle of virile life to Rose's wilted garden of meandering half-finished attempts at rewriting House of Leaves to be about wizard politics. It's your first and only ironically serious and seriously ironic attempt at understanding your sister's mysterious word-world using your natural-born Striderean creativity. It is, by necessity, your literary magnum opus. It's a novel currently titled The Tribulations of Shaggy 2 Dope, and you will have it sent off and _published_ before Rose even finishes _writing_ The Complacency of the Learned, so help you god.

You begin to type.                                                                       

_"aw sumbitch" shaggy swagged at no one in particular "is there even one dive bar on this rock aint full of fuckin wizards like wavin your staves and shit around and pretendin you can speak latin"_

_just then the wizard with the most ginormous-ass beard tapped his wand against the swastika tattooed onto his forehead but shaggyd seen that trick more often than hed seen half naked babes turn into seven headed manticores and when the aryan laser busted out like a runaway nazi jizz train he split it in half and then also split the wizard in half_

_"who wants to try me next" he said with great understanding of his position in the universes food chain as the halves of the temporally displaced klanspooge supersoaker shot blew out the front wall of the bar "five dollar special at any dennys on mars for a limited time only gonna pass up on a deal like that you dont know what youre missin"_

_as the other wizards ran from the bar shaggy let darth shadowfucker slide back into her fuligin sheath with a whisper like if you opened a door but there wasnt a person there or even a closet full of puppets but like a giant eye that was whispering in the babylonian mother tongue and you closed the door and opened it again and then a bunch of puppets just fucking fell out all over you that time_

_"you get back to the tower of milkrod and you tell your boss shaggys back in town" shaggy said, he didnt yell because that was the kind of hero he was but he raised his voice like just a little bit like an older brother whos sort of pissed at you but not that pissed at least not yet_

_"you tell him im comin for him and all of his foxhitlers and just like last time im 2 dope to handle" he turned to the bartender with apology (the bartender was this kind of hot chick in that way that people call slutty but if youre paying attention its more like classy lewdness although shaggy wasnt really sure how classy the extra boob on her forehead was, he always forgot about martians and all the things he hated about them because anti-martianism is a major character flaw thats still not really any better at this point in that subplot) "sorry bout the joint babe" to accentuate the point he lit up a joint and tossed it onto the bar "no cash on me good luck with havin a future or whatever"_

Thump.

And just like that, interrupted while you were on a roll. You hope this is what it's like to be Rose; just constantly torn away from the beautiful act of creation by anything and everything before even getting down five hundred words. The bright side is that this must be a lot easier for you because unlike Rose you only need one draft and, in fact, refuse to do any editing whatsoever. Why fuck with perfection when it's already on the page just waiting to burn itself into the wallets and retinas of millions?

At least you made it to the end of a paragraph before you heard a thump from the actual space alien in your real apartment, like, the one who's maybe suicidal for some reason that towering gay alien chicks are too cool/busy heading out to bang your sister to actually warn a guy about. If Dave Strider sighed over anything less than failed attempts at irony, you'd probably let out a long, pained sigh right now, blowing nonexistent manuscript pages around the room like John got too excited while hanging out watching Jackie Chan befriend a horse in the Wild West, except when that happens you can solve the problem by threatening him with small pastries, and you think it might take more than a cupcake to keep Vantas under control.

Opening the door, all you can think is _dear sweet god in heaven don't you make me have to keep this fucking dick from killing himself._ You'll do it, because Maryam asked you to and because, well, Christ, who wouldn't _(Dirk, Dirk wouldn't)_  no not thinking about that right now, that is so irrelevant that you've definitely forgiven and forgotten absolutely everything he's ever done to you in your entire life, you are a saint in this moment, but like the kind of saint who's not even sure who he's trying to lie to about forgiving and forgetting, especially because this whole spiel is just happening in his own head.

Vantas is lying on the floor of his room making... noises you still think are goddamn terrifying, especially because trolls all seem to be able to make them _while they're talking_ and you have no idea how that even works, like, that is some real shit right there, man, and for all the horns that look like candy their species doesn't have and the weird eyes and grey skin and the cultural differences, they still don't look all that different from humans, but then something like this'll happen and it hits you, like, _really_ hits you, that this isn't Star Trek or some kind of soft sci-fi, these guys are _seriously_ aliens, like, in the sense that they're _really fucking alien._

"Dude, you alright in here? I mean, looks like you're about as alright as a fuckin' dumb son of a bitch who rolled off his bed goin' all pussy-ass hissin' cockroach about it, but hey, seemed polite to ask, right?" He glares up at you, growling, and _how is it possible to be making that hissy clicking noise and growling at the same time?_  These are your roommates, and yeah, Maryam's chill enough, and Rose dating her you can understand, she's got no stake in anything, but all you can think about when you look at this asshole, the asshole who unlike his weird friend-girlfriend  _acts_  an awful lot like the trolls everybody used to watch slaughtering human beings on TV, all you can think is _how and why in the FUCK can Roxy even LOOK at one of these guys without flipping her shit, let alone get her bone on with one?_ Like, maybe that's her way of dealin' with her life, but goddamn. You guess she's always been the real tough guy of the family and she can do what she wants with her own damn life, but if you were her... Well, you _ain't_ her, so that's that, you figure.

"Fuck off, I'm not gonna take any _ow god damn_ shit from a fucking mammal, especially tonight, so how about you go back to your pathetic fake life, stop trying so goddamned hard to be hatefriends because, newsblast, _you're not worth my time_."

"Holy shit, you actually _did_ roll off your bed, didn't you. That is seriously what's happenin' right now. What went wrong, you have a nightmare and piss yourself hard enough to send you flyin'?" The look on his face is scathing and slightly embarrassed and oh my _god_ he really did just roll off his bed, that is the best thing that's happened in this apartment since he got his clothes shredded by an alien furry like thirty minutes ago. Tonight is solid gold.

And you promised you'd make sure this idiot didn't do anything dangerous to himself, to a chick who's six foot one and has a _chainsaw_ , and you're standing here being an asshole as usual. Maybe not the best idea, Strider.

"Look, whatever, you need a hand down there, man?" This is completely reasonable and innocuous. You aren't even being a dick with this sentence. You make sure you don't even _sound_ like a dick, at least as much as you can while still being yourself.

This is why when you extend a hand and he actually recoils and the glare he's giving you switches from _pissed off jackhole_ to _abused rottweiler about to rip your throat out_ , it startles you so bad you almost let it show. The rapid clicking hissing thing goes from fast enough to creep you out to fast enough to belong in a horror movie and you'd swear to god you just found out he can growling and hiss-click at the same time _without either of those sounds stopping him from talking_. What in the _hell_.

" _You try to help me, you try to touch me, you fucking OFFER to do something that involves touching me again,_ " he says, man, no, 'says' is the wrong word for the sheer brutality in that voice, where the fuck's Rose when you need her, _"And I will actually kill you._ " You withdraw your hand and watch him struggle to his feet and then less sit down on his bed again and more collapse back onto it. "I throw that word around a lot, yeah. I'm a goddamned  _troll_. But I am _lususfucking serious_ right now."

Damn, ain't like he needed to _tell_ you that. You've seen actual murder in somebody's eyes before and you don't forget how _that_ looks, it's like riding a bike or whatever, you come back ten years later or some shit and you still know how to keep from ramming your dumb ass into telephone poles. Unless your name is John, but that's so obvious it's insulting to both you and Egbert the Youngest to even have to think it.

"Fine. I get it. But let me tell you somethin', Vantas. You try'n take me down, there's going to be one dead body two seconds later and it _ain't_ gonna be mine. We got different cultures but I'll eat my shades if you don't have this sayin': play with fire and you're gonna get burned. This is the same kind of fuckin' deal. _If you draw steel on a Strider, he draws back."_

"Like I give a scurrybeast's ass about that. Get the hell out of my block already, stop sending mixed signals that I couldn't care less about if I tried, and go the _fuck_ back to your meaningless and embarrassing excuse of a life, not to mention your bizarre insistence on trying to be nocturnal, for that matter. I'm trying to get by on a diurnal schedule and that's not natural for _my_ species, yeah, but at least I have a fucking _reason_."

It's cool, Strider. It's all cool. You can see red and not let it show, you can take that brutal underhanded jab without losing your cool, you've been through worse and stayed frostier than ice in a freezer in a blizzard in mid-December. But fuck, after six months of living in the same place, this little son of a bitch finally managed to say something that actually _hurts_. You thought they _knew_. You thought, hey, not every asshole's a piece of shit, you thought you sort of lucked out and got roomies who, even if they weren't human, were chill enough not to be like damn near everybody else in the system, and you seriously misunderstood. They were only like that because they aren't human. They just never said anything because _they didn't_ _know you aren't garden-variety for your species_. That shouldn't hurt half as bad as it does, not a quarter, but it does, it's ten slaps in the face and a knife in your back. But you can stay cool. That's what Striders _do_. Calm, collected, in control, that's Dave Strider, that's every Strider, hell, that's every Lalonde, too, come to think of it.

Your right arm hurts, that's weird, feels like stinging, searing lines in your skin. Actually, it hurts a hell of a lot and something hot's running down the sides, there's some sort of pressure in those muscles, too, and in your right shoulder.

The red fades from your sight to reveal Karkat Vantas's face swollen and red, blood running down your arm from where he's clawing at it, your roommate suspended in the air by a hand, your hand, lifting him up with barely any effort, crushing his throat with your fingers and palm.

When you drop him, shell-shocked and baffled by what you can't possibly have just done, see him land back on his bed gasping for air, one hand held instinctively over his throat and the other still held forward and curled, ready to rend flesh, your blood on his claws, his pupils blown out with rage and terror, his whole body shaking hard, you realize that you have, in fact, lost your cool.

Visions of other times, other places, the middle brother, memories you bury because there's no point in digging them up unless you have to, spiked blond hair and spiked black shades hiding furnace orange hiding a blasted tundra where a heart should be, an AC unit on a Dallas rooftop, a broken sword, a hospital bed, the endless silent oaths to yourself that you weren't like him and you never would be, not in the least, finally waking up to the knowledge that you were a Knight and knowing more or less what that meant and that you'd been that person your whole life and _you would never be like him_ , knowing beyond a shadow of a fucking doubt that it was true, the incredible relief of being able to leave that fear behind. You _knew_ who you were, finally. That you were  _untainted._

You believed it all and you were wrong. There's a splinter of Dirk Strider lodged inside your soul after all.


	18. Act 2-5: Knights In Glass Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! ! ! ! A THING TO SAY HERE ! ! ! !
> 
> New Year has been made into a series. The other fic in the series (there will be several, each serving different purposes, and I'll try to announce in notes when they're created) is actually a repository for short-ish side stories, bits of backstory; basically scenes that don't fit into the plot structure of New Year itself and aren't strictly necessary but that I really wanted to write/show and they might be worth taking a look at if you've actually gotten through the 16 or 17 chapters of this behemoth necessary to reach these notes.
> 
> ! ! ! ! THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY THERE ! ! ! !

_school is out, and i walk the empty hallways_

_i walk alone, alone as always_

_there's so many lucky pennies lying on the floor_

_but where the hell are the lucky people?_

_i can't see them any more_

[ _regina spektor - school is out_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRHsdIfLOP0)

 

* * *

 

You wake up with a shock. _Fuck!_ What the hell is going on? Are you... oh god damn it, did you just roll off this bullshit springy cloth thing and smash into the floor? Yep, you sure did. Thinkpan in a haze, in a lot more pain than you'd think you ought to be, you just lie there for a while, tertiary vocal chambers flailing in confusion. They're not too loud, though; you can hear something outside of your door.

Huh. That's Strider, you're sure of it, but you can't tell who he's talking to, he must be using his comm unit. Fuck, you wish you could hear what he's saying, you hate it when you can _almost tell_ something but not quite get there. Something feels off and you don't know what, something other than _NOPE NOT GOING THERE YET_ you'll think about all of that later, but there's something _else_ wrong and it's just feeling more and more off.

Then you hear a grunt of pain, a thump against the wall of your block next to the door and a half-strangled _"fuck...!"_ If you could get over the agonizing pains in your joints where they impacted the floor you might go see what the hell his deal is. Unfortunately you can't, because human sleeping furnishings are literally the worst thing in the universe.

The door opens with a creak and Strider steps in. He stares down at you, expression unreadable just like it always fucking is, and he is officially the second shittiest person you've ever been stuck in a block with (you, of course, are number one).

"Dude, you alright in here? I mean, looks like you're about as alright as a fuckin' dumb son of a bitch who rolled off his bed goin' all pussy-ass hissin' cockroach about it, but hey, seemed polite to ask, right?" You don't know what the hell a cockroach is but that had to be an insult. This fucking nookshitter, how can he just get worse and worse the more you know him? No, this is it, this is your limit, you are on the floor of your own block in pain while a smug sack of shit _literally_ looks down on you while he's talking down to you.

"Fuck off, I'm not gonna take any _ow god damn_ shit from a fucking mammal, especially tonight, so how about you go back to your pathetic fake life, stop trying so goddamned hard to be hatefriends because, newsblast, _you're not worth my time_."

"Holy shit, you actually _did_ roll off your bed, didn't you. That is seriously what's happenin' right now. What went wrong, you have a nightmare and piss yourself hard enough to send you flyin'?" God, what is he even angling for here? He's obviously pitch for Lalonde, he's too much of an asshole to actually seem to want to be proper hatefriends, he shows up in dark alleys out of nowhere and then pretends nothing happened... this living crusty alien taint is _completely unbearable._

"Look, whatever, you need a hand down there, man?"

When he reaches out that hand as if he _likes_ you or something, as if he gives the slightest of fucks about what happens to you _right after making it clear that whatever he wants from you it sure as hell isn't red_ , you just snap. This is officially too much bullshit for one night, this is too much bullshit for a goddamned _sweep,_ and without even thinking about it your secondary vocal chambers are going full on barkbeast and your fingers and curling into slashing positions.

" _You try to help me, you try to touch me, you fucking OFFER to do something that involves touching me again,_ " you snarl, _"And I will actually kill you._ "

You're amazed to realize you seriously mean it. Strider withdraws his arm as you manage to get back up onto your bed, and something's _wrong_ with this moment but you can't figure out what.

"Fine. I get it. But let me tell you somethin', Vantas. You try'n take me down, there's gonna be one dead body two seconds later and it _ain't_ gonna be mine. We got different cultures but I'll eat my shades if you ain't have this sayin': play with fire and you're gonna get burned. Same deal. _If you draw steel on a Strider, he draws back."_ Something's _still_ wrong. There's venom in those words, but it's just... not quite _right_ in a way you can't identify. Whatever. Screw it. It's not like he's ever made any sense.

"Like I give a scurrybeast's ass about that. Get the hell out of my block already, stop sending mixed signals that I couldn't care less about if I tried, and go the _fuck_ back to your meaningless and embarrassing excuse of a life, and your bizarre insistence on trying to be nocturnal, for that matter. I'm trying to get by on a diurnal schedule and that's not natural for _my_ species, yeah, but at least I have a fucking _reason_."

Seriously, it's the middle of the night or something and you were _hoping_ to get enough rest to process _no not thinking about any of that yet_ in the morning, and it's been bugging you for _perigees_ , even if it's petty, the total unfairness of every member of your species on this planet and probably others having no choice but to throw off your entire natural sleep cycle while this asshole does the same thing... why? So he can wake you up every once in a while getting too excited about shitty human slam poetry he could be working on when _his_ species is _supposed_ to be awake?

He twitches, tenses in a way you know all too well. Oh, holy shit. Oh, _fuck._

Whatever you just said wrong, Strider is about to fucking attack you and you don't even have your specibus. You cannot believe you're probably about to die tonight of all nights without even knowing why. Well, fuck it. Your life's been one long swirl down the load gaper anyway, you don't even care enough to go out fighting, and you _know_ you'll be going out, you know this alien jackass can and is going to pretty much tear you apart and shit on the unrecognizable bloody pieces that are left over. You just shut your eyes and wait, as much because you're so damn tired as because you aren't interested in seeing your death coming. Seconds pass. Then a few more. And then a few _more._

When you open your eyes again, he's gone slack and you can just barely hear his breath, rhythm just so slightly off like he's almost winded but not _quite_ there yet.

"I've got," he says slowly, and _now_ there's venom in his words along with something else, something that makes him sound almost... defeated, somehow, "a fuckin' reason, you dumb shit. I _got_ a reason _you_ of all goddamned people oughta understand."

What?

"Okay, I just woke up and you almost decided to kill me, yes I did notice that absolutely fucking _wonderful_ detail in case you were wondering, I have no idea what the hell you want from me or what the hell you're talking about so _explain yourself_ or I swear to Skaia I will literally lie back down to pass out and pretend you don't exist until you either leave me alone or kill me after all. So _decide_."

Strider turns and you think he's actually going to leave for a second before he heads over to your desk, steals your chair, and sits in it backwards, arms crossed over hard wood. You're almost sure you can hear him inhale and exhale like he's trying to calm himself down. Fucking _Derse_ , this scumbag needs a moirail even more than he needs goddamned dihydrogen monoxide, and he's only got access to one of those things as far as you know. He's still, silent. Seconds pass.

And then he takes off those stupid ocular light impact dimmers, setting them on your desk with obvious care, and even through his sudden and intense squint, you can see that his eyes are red.

You open your useless squawk gaper, shut it, open it, then shut it again.

"You know humans come in a lot of skin colors," he says as you stare dumbly, unable to even nod. "And a few eye colors. Humans ain't come with red eyes. And humans ain't come with skin like mine."

Oh, fuck.

He must see your eyes widen because something changes in the set of his face. You're not sure what it signifies, but that doesn't really matter. Fuck. _Fuck. FUCK._

"We've got black people, we've got white people, we've got tan people. You know what we aren't 'supposed' to have?" Strider pauses for a second, eyes shut as he fumbles for the... what did he call them, 'shades?' As much as you hate to admit it, that _is_ easier to say and even think than ocular light impact dimmers. "We ain't _supposed_ to have skin so fuckin' pale even _our_ sun burns us, eyes that are so goddamn photosensitive we have to wear shades _indoors,_ and vision problems we can't ever really fix. Me, I got lucky on that last one, my sight's not _totally_ fucked. Oh yeah, not supposed to have white fuckin' hair either, I _didn't_ luck out on that one, that's supposed to go yellow around adulthood but apparently I get to be a fuckin' anime character my whole life." He's belting out the fucks so much he barely sounds like the same person and you _hate_ how well you understand that feeling.

He's a mutant. _Really_ mutant, mutant enough to be an awful lot like you, enough that if his culture culled people with undesirable genetics he'd have spent his life hiding just like you, only he wouldn't have made it because he can't just do his best not to bleed or blush, type in gray, video call in monochrome. This is something he literally _wears on himself every day of his life._ In a world where everyone is out in the daylight, his own sun is _still_ poison to him.

You're crying now, and you hate that you have to cry about hurting someone you fucking despise.

"It's all in the genes and shit," he says. "Some folks get it worse in some ways and better in others. I'm just nearsighted, but I still got eyes that get less pink and more red in the wrong light, the light hurts 'em so bad that not havin' my shades is a nightmare, and I _really_ have to be careful with sunlight, hell, anything that puts out goddamned UV rays." This fucking asshole. _This fucking asshole._ You want to sock him in the guts, claw his face off, scream that he's scum and plastic and a complete asshole. "And I get shit for this. I get fucking insults, I get stares every damn place I go, I get people who look at me like I'm part of a freak show, a _curiosity,_ I get all of this shit _even NOW_ and it's two thousand fifty fucking nine." Dave Strider sits like he thinks you need time for this shit to sink in, like he can't see the lines of red pouring down your fucking cheeks. " 'At least you have a fucking reason?' I've got my _fucking reason,_ Vantas, and don't _ever_ forget it."

Strider's scum, plastic, inscrutable. Strider is an asshole.

But he doesn't deserve bullshit like this.

Life can go fuck itself, you've decided, because all it does is churn out broken people and goddamned monsters. All it does is take everything you are, the lives you should have had, and it smashes everything into pieces and then throws the jagged slivers back into your faces.

"I cannot fucking stand you," you say, no, _croak_ , sniffle like the _male_ you are, "but I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry." You can't even look at him anymore, your face is in your hands and wet with thin pink tears.

"Yeah, you're a piece of shit too, Vantas."

Time passes. It might be a little and it might be a lot. He stays quiet, you work on getting over this stupid crying spell and fail. There's just too much. Strider, your blood, your _don't think about it_ no FUCK that, _your gills_ , being a shitty fucking moirail, still being trapped on a planet you hate because of a choice you made yourself, probably being the catalyst for 'Her Impartial Coordination's' inexplicable and brutal rise to power and the literally countless deaths that followed, abandoning your friends on Alternia, the horrible void that's been devouring you from the inside out for as long as you can remember, _life itself_. It's too fucking _much,_ and it's too much to handle when you only really know and remotely trust one fucking person.

"Hey." It'd be a lie to say your mouth and vocal chambers just started moving on their own, but not much of one.

"Yeah."

"Tell me something. Anything."

"What, Vantas needs a bedtime story? I ain't your mom, dude."

"I don't know what the hell that is and no, you autoerotic nookstuffer, tell me _anything_. Tell me something about fucking Earth, or your life, or your friends. Just... tell me _something._ " _Be a real person,_ you don't say. _Be a sack of festering ass if that's your thing, but at least let me see you're a fucking person._

Dave is quiet again, for a while, long enough that you think maybe he's just going to get up and leave, and you feel like trash for asking anything of him after you made _him_ feel like shit about his _genetics_. There's hatefriendship and there's dislike and there's killing hate and there's kismesissitude, but you don't... you're not... You, Karkat Vantas, are not supposed to be the kind of gross excuse for a troll who hits low like _that_.

"I met my best friend on the extranet when I was a kid," he says. "His name's John Egbert and he's from Washington and he's the second biggest loser in the world and I'd sell a thousand strangers to the fucking devil if that's what it took to keep him safe."

"He's your moirail."

"Dude, no. What the fuck. That ain't how it is. He's my _best friend_ , not my cuddle-boyfriend, Christ. I'm human, I barely even know what a moirail actually _is_." For someone who doesn't know what a moirail is, he did an awfully good job of pronouncing it right.

Then, more silence. Silence, silence, _silence_ , and your face in your hands. Time does not exist here. Time is a concept you no longer understand.

"John likes old movies, the worse the better. He's a useless nerd and he acts like he lives in fuckin' two thousand nine and he doesn't know how to stop playing stupid pranks on everybody like he's a little kid."

Somehow, you nod, not even sure what nodding means right now.

"He's one of the nicest guys you could know. He plays piano like he's Mozart on acid and he's a little bit famous and his sister works for the government on a space station. John Egbert looks like a useless piece of shit and he can swing a hammer half the size of his body like it was a damn feather. He's got blue eyes I swear have the sky in them somehow. He's bigger than me and he's a dork and he wears his heart on _both_ sleeves and he's everything I'm not and he talks to me online _every single day_ , even when he's got a gig, even when he's busy, he never once forgets to at least say 'hey Dave, how's New Houston?' even when that's all he can squeeze in and sometimes even when he can't really afford to spend the time. You'll probably meet him someday and you'll call him some gross alien word that means he's a brainless dickhole and he'll laugh and grin and ask if you want to watch a movie with him and you'll lie and say you don't and he'll see right the fuck through your shit and I think you're a stupid depressed lazy self-centered prick but you and John'll be friends in minutes even if he's the only one who knows it."

You don't know what's happening any more, what you've started. This isn't flushed or pale or pitch or ashen or friendship or hatefriendship. It's something else, something you can't even come close to describing.

"I knew... I knew somebody, once," you half-whisper. "Sh-she's beautiful and brilliant and sharper than her sword and she's blind and I miss her so much it makes me feel like throwing up and she wishes I was dead and until tonight I haven't said a single fucking word about her in half a sweep." Breathe, Vantas, come on. "I wish I hadn't ruined things. I wish I still knew her. I wish she was here. I wish she'd die in a fucking fire and I wish I could keep her safe from every shitty unfair thing in the universe even though I know she doesn't need anybody else's help to get by and she doesn't n-need my pity and she doesn't want it and she doesn't, she doesn't pity me back and she's not even pitch for me. And you know what?" Your face feels tight and for some reason you're not really crying any more, just sniffling again, a hiccup here and there. Nothing makes sense any more. No, nothing ever made sense in the first place. This, this _thing_ , whatever's happening here, this is just helping to codify that meaningless insanity that's run through every second of your aberrant existence.

"It's okay, I think. I think I'm... okay. If she's out there somewhere, if she's happy, then that's enough for me. There's no going back. Nobody can turn back time and I can't make things right with her, but if she's doing alright, then I can accept it all. I can deal."

"Quit smilin', you weird son of a bitch," Dave says, and what, you're _smiling?_ Why are you smiling? Is he just fucking with you? "Shit just looks wrong on your face, it's fuckin' indecent, it's like walkin' in on your parents havin' sex, that shit's never comin' off your retinas even if you scrub 'em with steel wool."

"Fuck off, Strider. I don't even have to look to know you're smiling too. I can hear it in your creepy alien voice. You think you're opaque, like you can make those, what'd you call them, those _shades_ cover your whole body, wear them like armor, but you can't."

"Man, eat a dick. You act like you hate the entire world and everything in it's out to get you and you want to die and you wish you could take everybody else down with you and you don't mean a goddamned bit of it. You're a fuckin' fake, Vantas. You're _nice."_

"I'm not _nice,_ you pan-addled psychopath, I'm a bloodthirsty goddamned soldier stuck on a backwoods rock with an alien hipster and billions of humans who all wish I was dead, and I wish they were dead too."

He snorts, and then he chuckles, and somehow you're laughing too, quietly, not quite under your breath.

"I can't stand the fact that you even exist, let alone that I've gotta share an apartment with your puny vulgar cat-bug-lizard ass. You're worth about as much as a piece of gum stuck to my shoe, and I ain't even talkin' about fresh gum, man, this wad's been blown and lyin' on the sidewalk for _years._ "

"Someday I'm gonna knee you in the bone sheath and look down at you while you're gasping for air like cullbait with a respiratory defect and I'm going to laugh and laugh and tell everybody I can think of. Hell, I'll record it and put it on the extranet and you'll be famous for being a living, leaking nook because of all the tears I'll be wringing out of your damned anguish bladders."

"Yeah, sure. Bring it on, gray boy."

You wonder how many long silences this absolutely bizarre conversation is going to have. Maybe it'll be over soon. Maybe it'll never be over. Maybe you died somehow and this is your punishment and your reward for all the shitty things and all the altruistic things you did in your life. Hopefully you're not actually dead. Kanaya needs you. She won't tell you, she might not even really know it, but something's wrong and you're her moirail and she's your _Sunshine_ and you won't leave her behind.

"Get a moirail already, dipshit. I don't care if you're not a troll. Go talk to your stupid friend who's 'got the sky in his eyes' -- yeah, tell me _that_ wasn't a pale thing to say about somebody, I _dare_ you, motherfucker -- and stop pretending. How the hell am I supposed to thrash you if you don't have anybody to pick you up so you can fight back?"

"Dude, are you hittin' on me? Is this some weird-ass troll bullshit, like that blackrom or whatever you call it, like, you want to hate-bone me and this is your fucked up roundabout way of sayin' it?"

"Urgh, you only _wish_ you were worth my hate. My hate is a beautiful thing. My hate is pure and vicious and some beanstaff wannabe alien slam poet isn't gonna cut it. If I ever end up flirting with you I'll go cull myself as fucking penance."

"Dave. Karkat. I think that perhaps I've... intruded on something?"

Oh, holy shit, how did you not hear her, what the hell? How long has it been? You finally look up, wipe already-dried tears on the bottom of your camisole, and there's your moirail, flushed bright jade and not meeting your eyes.

" _This is not what it looks like,"_ you and Strider say at almost exactly the same time, and Kanaya just clicks her chambers and shakes her head.

"Dave, I'd like a moment with Karkat, if you don't mind."

There's a startling blur and a rush of displaced air and Strider's just... _gone_. How the hell does he _do_ that?

"Dearest," Kanaya says, stepping in and closing the door, "are you all right? Did I... get in the way of something just now?" Oh _god_ you do _not_ need that mental image, _wow_.

"Holy _shit_ no, what the hell. I'd chop my bulge off with a sickle and shove it up my own wastechute before I --"

"Sssshhhh," and there's that goddamned... hand on your fucking cheek... "Look at you, poor thing. Do you realize you're barely conscious?"

"That is bullshit," you say. She pokes your forehead gently with a fingerpad and you fall over and she laughs, that laugh like Prospit's gold melted down and poured into a mold of sound. "I could not be... more... awaghghhhke."

You're not sure how, but you're suddenly tucked under the covers of your bed. It's still weird and uncomfortable and the squishy things you're supposed to put under your head feel all wrong compared to the cushion of sopor you _should_ have, but at least it's sort of warm.

There are arms wrapped around you, you're not sure where they came from, when she got in bed with you, but she's there and god you've missed this, why did you ever stop sleeping together, who gives a shit if you have different rooms? You had different rooms in her hive and you still slept together, even if you kept making excuses to each other about how you couldn't afford another recuperacoon when you both knew you could just save up for a little while and get one delivered, no problem. She holds you tight and your thorax flutters without your permission.

"Can you... feel my... my gills?" It's so hard to form words and your eyes are barely open. Kanaya smiles.

"Yes, Dearest," she says. "I've missed the feeling. It's... comforting. It feels like home."

 _You_ feel like crying. You could cry now, if you wanted, but you've cried enough tonight, so you nuzzle your face into her shoulder instead and you dream of blurs of shining towers, of jade eyes watching over you from above a soft smile.

You dream of new friends you can almost understand, of old friends come to meet you again, and familiar clawtips tracing gentle waves through your hair.


	19. Act 2-6: Where Steel And Water Did Collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! ! ! ! A THING TO SAY HERE ! ! ! !
> 
> A second side-'fic' for New Year has been added to the 'series': The Tribulations of Shaggy 2 Dope, a series of excerpts from Dave's mind-blowing, deep, many-layered novel that is totally better than and not at all a parody of The Complacency of the Learned. It's basically this fic's Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. Take a look at it if you liked the bit from Chapter 17, or if you just like complete fucking nonsense in general.
> 
> ! ! ! ! THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY THERE ! ! ! !

_my boy builds coffins, he makes them all day_

_but it's not just for work and it isn't for play_

_he's made one for himself, one for me too_

_one of these days he'll make one for you_

[ _florence and the machine - my boy builds coffins_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeATvJpBpe4)

                                                                                             

* * *

 

Lookin' up, waaaave up, you think _coddamn is that gonna be one shelluva fall._ Aliens got some tall-ass stratuspiercers, but then ain't that just how things sink up in general. Somewhere reel close to the mainsail here there's one dumbass little fishy done swam too deep, and he aboat to be walkin' the plank and helpin' fill your cargo hold with alien paper caegar knockoffs all at the same time. Whale, at least human plunder's lighter.

You love your job. Aw, shell, who you tryin' to grub, you _fuckin'_ love your job.

Fun thing 'bout climbin' tall-ass buildings in a city sloshin' with aliens who ain't see so good when it gets dark is all you gotta do is wear black and steer clear of portholes and nomoby even sees you. Actshoally, mako that two fun things. Other one's gettin' to look down on the whole world, and maybe sometimes you don't mind that so much. Spend enough of your life in the deep end and feelin' like an Empress once in a whale's just the right thing to keep a gill's spirits up.

Bein' a reel one's not much fun, though, far as you seen. Seems downright abyssmal. In fact you seen two other gills sink so far into that blackness one of 'em got forked and the other one done split her shoal and sold it off just to get the forkin' done with. If you bein' honest with yourshellf you still ain't decided which buyer creeped you out moray. These nights you startin' to bet your caegars on that crackin' that dark glass was moby the lesser of those two eelvils, 'cause least the darkness don't worry aboat pretendin' it's playin' nice. Least the darkness up and try to _say_ what it takin' from a body.

You try'n keep from starin' through all this _three-_ sided glass best you can manage 'cause there ain't so many seadwellers in this port and you know they all got alibicores. Mostly you just got a matesprit who don't even know what you get up to when you're outta the hive, hell, she don't even care, or least she okay with you not sayin' if you don't wanna and her word ain't aboat to hold any water if shit come down to facin' mammal justice.

Seein' as you're fishin' close to the top anyway, you climb right on mast the deck you lookin' for to spend a minnowet on the roof. Shella fuckin' dark up here.

Dark enough you barely see the human standin' around the other side; you can make out they wearin' clothes mean on this planet they probably a he and not a she, but even that's almast stretchin' it. Fucked thing is he wearin' some kinda spiky black land goggles and he shore as hell see you just fin, you shore aboat that.

Then there a splash of orange sparks and you barely get your own specibus popped before he ten yards closer with a curve of metal comin' down and you damn near don't get it tangled in your prongs in time. He ain't mako a sound even when you grin and show off reel fangs, proper killfish _seadweller_ fangs, nah, he does a weird little hop back and leans just so your counter-poke slides right past his head.

"Not bad, buoy." It takin' all you got not to twirl your 2x3dent, what can you say, sometimes you like it flashy, but you ain't got this far bein' dumb enough to toss a split secod's worth of readiness after he come at you with a sword so fast he less like an alien and more like an above water shot from a glubbin' harpoon gun.

He ain't say a word back, just flicker off to the side and come flashin' up right in the worst spot for where you got your weapon stuck out, but you take a drop from his pond and don't bother with the blockin', just get some distance. Right move on your part and you fast like fuchsia but you still feel the warm air move when the tip of that sword come a quarter inch from nickin' your cheek. Cod- _damn._ You try and bash his head in flippin' your fork in your hands and when he steps back all perfect just so you miss by a plankton's breadth you go for another poke now he got himself so close.

Takes you a split second to bereef the way he _springs right up and lands perched on the shaft_ but he ain't the first person pulled that trick on you so you dig in before he can go all Weeaboo clan runnin' at you on your own weapon, then you swing it up 'cause somethin' like a hundred eighty pounds of barracuda's nofin to an heiress, tryin' to toss him clear overboard, and just in case it don't work, the instant he off your fork you spin 'round and jump back away from the edge.

Momentum otter have the swordshuman fallin' a long way down but he stab that sword right into the ferrocrete and press it so he landin' just an inch still roof-wise. You stare him in the goggles and you can feel him starin' right back whale you whistle. Points for some searious technique gotta get some recognition even though you still gonna be the one standin' when the mist settles. Ain't a single body fought you and come a damn league close to winnin' since -- whale, since everyfin started.

Lucky shore you, when the shit hit the oscillatin' bladed device quicker than a riptide you start feelin' time get all mushy way they say trolls aboat to cash in do, except those trolls ain't fuchsia and when swimmin' like you got sailfish for ancestors is secod nature it eels less like the world in 'slow motion' and more like everymoby else just _quit_ bein' in it, so the ferrocrete chunk flyin' at your face where his sword strait up tore it out the roof gets smacked away, only now he right back at you again. Thing is it's called a 2x3dent for a reason and after knockin' that cannonball away -- _coddamn,_ though, that thing had no business takin' so much strength to block -- you got your poker spinnin' again and ready to skewer this fucker now he leapin' at you.

Then he _twists_ mid-leap and the tines sail by so close you shellshocked he ain't at least scratched, you flip the fork another time and suddenly you got all three prongs just pokin' their tips at his thorax and he got that curvy sword's point right under your throat.

The two of you stare, bettas locked with you both havin' no options but to krill each other or back the fuck off. Ain't see through them fuckin' goggles even now, pointed all sharp and mirroared, but there some nasty blaze behind 'em, Sancta Elmhon's flares for shore and you know you stormy up in the irises. Time you both stop glubbin' around.

"Tied again, huh. That blade run turn-around was solid, you know. Perfect counter."

"Buoy I ain't fishin' for yo conchpliments and you know it." You poke at the coxal bone oriented specibus band's halibutton and the 2x3dent dissolves into fuchsia sparks, watchin' his sword go orange and fizzle out at aboat the same time. Corner of his mouth twitches up a tuna bit and you grin.

"Yeah, sure, the mighty Peixes is above all of that shit, I forgot." He still a shelluva lot too tense, them tunad mussels corded even tighter than they always, and you start grinnin' not so much as you were. When you up close he knows what you onto and you know he more skittish than a crab grub but ain't that the whale points?

"What's yo damage, guppy? You shella goin' bluefish on me again and don't you get all koi 'cause I know you herring what I mean." He just tightens up moray until he give in when you start to glub on his shoulders and you know he all yours again when he actshoally bubbles out enough to mako some sound.

"I don't know." He see you lookin' at him stern and feel you workin' some knots out and he lookin' gillty. You both know he ain't gonna hide from the only fish he able to trust.

"You shittin' me here and I ain't lettin' that sink, Strider. Spill it already, buoy."

"... Fine. I've just had this... feeling that things are _wrong_ somehow twice today, and I only get this kind of weird when Dave's changing something big." Actshoally turn his head down eighth an inch after that and now you startin' to reely worry.

"What went so wrong _twice_ today?" You don't glub nothin' 'cause he aboat to spill on his own and you both know it, both know a lot you ain't say out loud. "It's huge this time. A lot changed and I don't even know _what_." Damn near starts slumpin' over and this ain't like him one bit. "How long does he have left, Meenah? Does _he_ even have a guess? He could run out of time at thirty. Hell, he could drop dead tomorrow for all we know."

Damn, whale, that's all the excuse you need, so you wrap your arms around his thorax and when he just lean his forehead on _your_ thorax you scared seein' him this way but damn if your bloodpusher ain't throbbin' with pity hard enough to ache.

"He otter know what he doin', guppy, he know time damn near as much as Megido. Tuna Strider's fin and you know it." _Cod_ do ever you wish you ain't fulla shit aboat that.

"No, I _don't_. Humans are pretty much yellowbloods, we don't have _thousands of years_ to blow on this shit and Dave's too fucking stubborn to care." Dirk stay all clammed up a few more secods and he reel quiet next thing he says. "He's _too_ fucking tough. He doesn't give a shit what he throws away if he thinks he's protecting something, and even before he woke up... I _made_ him this way. He broke me when I needed it and _I'm_ better off in the long run. I broke _him_ when what he really needed was _me,_ and all he got was pain and a permanent white-knight complex, and now he's even a _real_ Knight."

"Di-Stri, guppy, you damn near a wriggler back then, been almast five sweeps. When you gonna quit beatin' up on yo self? Everymoby fuck fins up when they little."

"When I'm dead," he say, and you squeeze reel careful with one arm and get your claws netted in his spiny hair and scratch real light. "This is going nowhere, Peixes. And what the fuck do I do about Roxy? She doesn't tell me anything that actually matters, not anymore. Not after the shit we did, and that was almost five years ago." This stupid buoy got the whole world thinkin' he some glacier and you fish he just learn to glub like a person when he floatin' 'round anymoby ain't you.

You figure you got yourself in one shell of a rough diamond with this killer, but then again he got a fuckin' heiress in hidin' on his half so at least things ain't unbalanced. Least you dumb shits fell in pity with the only bassholes could ever handle each other.

"She don't tell you nofin 'cause yo dumb ass got everybody sinkin' you a basshole." He ain't a troll, you got no special Chill Tha Fuck Out Strider spot built into his buoyology to use, plus he still just himshellf, but your claws on his scalp are havin' an effect, no surprise noodeels there. "When you gonna quit swimmin' from yo fronds 'n weird-ass sorta-ancestors and try bereefin' they moby don't trust you 'cause you alwaves actin' like you don't want 'em to?"

"I _don't_ want them to," he says, "I'm not the kind of person anybody _should_ trust." You glad he ain't sea you roll your eyes.

"I trust you, guppy."

He's siland for a whale 'fore dodgin' back on the submarineject.

"Why would she even want to see me again when I'm a living reminder of what we did, hell, the things she saw _me_ do, and she's probably never gonna get over any of it?"

"Must be over some of it if she flushed for a troll. _This_ glubbin' troll, even." You both know you right and you both know he plannin' on stayin' in denisle aboat this load of carp. "Only one kelpin' you sunk all the damn time's _you_. _"_

"Shit's starting to get pretty real on Derse," and you sigh moray than loud enough he gotta hear it 'cause _cod fuckin' dammit_ why he alwaves haulin' this on you, "Somebody's actually trying to assassinate me right now and everyone's usually smart enough to leave Heroes alone... Huh." He gets untangled from you and sits down, weird look on his face. "Well, I just killed six Dersites in weird clothes, no idea what that's all about. They were all wearing white tabards -- white on _Derse_ \-- with the same symbol on them, this blocky house in bright green." He see you starin' and then he the one does a tuna sigh. "It means hive, Meenah. You've been here for a year, how do you not know that?"

"Man, you eelian glubbafuckas got more words for hive than Serket got pupils, ain't nomoby got time fo that. They got any loot on 'em?"

"Six bug people just tried to kill me and you're worried about whether I can scavenge currency instead of whether there are any clues about why this even happened. Why am I not surprised?"

"'Cause you know I'm the one got shella betta prioarities?" You're pretty shore he glarin' at you, can't sea through those fuckin' goggles but you know how to read that face he conchvinces himself is like a glacier to everybody, even you. Moby it is if you a loser, but you the furthest thing from that the universe got. That and he your morayeel, and you ain't fuckin' up in that quadrant ever again.

"Well, they don't have any 'loot'. They don't have anything apart from some shitty weapons. Total waste of time."

"Buoy I do _not_ get how in the shell you alwaves awake on two planets at once. You all kinds of glubbin' mysterious, I seen shit in the dark waters on the hiveworld make horrorterror movies look like hopbeasts and got no business existin' far as I can sea and you _still_ bake the cake."

"Why the fuck are they called _horrorterror_ movies? Your culture is so redundant it makes my head ache." You just shrug.

"Whale, you got horror where you all messed up in the 'pan aboat some fucked up thing and then you got terror where you supposed to be screamin' at carp come jumpin' out in yo face all a sudden."

"God, I hate it when you explain things and they sort of make sense," he say, and you flop down on the roof shoulder to shoalder and mess up his hair.

"Why _you_ blowhole so much cash keepin' yo hair all fake-spiny? Shit eels like you tryin' to make yo whole head into horns." Aft-er a couple secods you keep bubblin'. "That all _kinds_ of kinky, you know, I still feel like I get my claws in red band territory and then everyfin's eelin' all skeezy like there some flush action goin' down."

"You have dreadlocks so far past your ass that they drag on the ground and _I'm_ the one who spends too much time on hair? Hypocrite."

"Aww, you went and learned the troll word for that shit? You adorbs, Strider."

"Act _shoally_ , it's the Sol-Common term, too. There are a lot of weird coincidences like that when it comes to both languages, if you're paying attention."

"Cod, I hate it when yo cullture actshoally ain't lame about somefin," you say and he shove at you with his shoulder.

"Anyway, how are you doing? Culture shock's gotta be a bitch even after a year --"

" _Half a sweep_ \--"

"-- that's mathematically inaccurate and you know it. Things going alright for you?"

"Yeah, when ain't they?", you lie. **_It doesn't have to be a lie, you know._** "Doin' my thing, pailin' the shell outta Roxy --"

"Please spare me the mental image, I seriously don't want to picture my sister naked."

**_You could feel true happiness. This is inevitable; why spend your energy delaying it? There is so much more of you to spend --_ **

**"** _Clam the fuck up,_ " you hiss, and Dirk turns his head to stare. Carp, now he gonna think you crayin' that to him. "Wait, drop anchor a secod, I wasn't glubbin' to you." The starin' don't stop, though.

"And I'm supposed to be the one with problems," he mutters. "Whatever. I'm getting tired. The fight was a draw so who gets the kill?"

At least he tossed the topic overboard.

"I think I oarned the kill and the pay, you said my moves were good, that's almast like winnin' right there."

"Yeah, no. You got the win last time and this was a draw, so I should be the one who does it. I don't even want to think about the mess you'd make getting inside, anyway." You give him another little hiss but he kinda got a point there. "I'll be in and out in two minutes without leaving any evidence."

"Clammit, fine, I'll just swim on back to the hive and dock my bulge in yo sister's --"

"Oh my god. Just go already and for the love of god don't tell me anything else about what the two of you get up to in the bedroom."

"Who said anyfin' aboat a respiteblock? There all _kinds_ of places --"

"Go home, Peixes," he says, and you wrap an arm around him and squeeze all gentle 'cause even if he probubbly the slickest killer on this planet your moirail don't got the body to take a royal strength hug if you ever glubbed up and cut loose. Only one human you know of got the foretitude to handle  _that_.

"Pity you too, basshole," and when you get to the edge of the roof you reely wanna just jump off 'cause it'd be shella fun, but humans get all weird aboat gills leavin' craters in their streets and runnin' off without payin' for the damage.

 

* * *

 

You stand up, go over the blueprints for the high-rise in your head, and walk yourself through the job one more time. Can't have any fuck-ups when assassination is your hobby. It's a shame you're twenty five and not forty, becoming a hitman when you're already rich would make the perfect mid-life crisis.

Unexpectedly, your personal cell buzzes in your pocket. Only a few people have that number and almost none of them use it; you keep it around more for emergencies than anything else.

When you see the name and number on the screen, it takes a few seconds to pull yourself together enough to raise the phone to your ear, hand just barely shaking. He doesn't wait for you to say anything like 'hello' or 'what do you want'.

"Been a while, man," he says. "The fuck were you last Christmas, you damn near broke Jake, Jane, and Roxy's hearts."

"What do you want from me?" _Your_ heart is fucking pounding and you can't get it to stop. After today you almost shouldn't be surprised by this. Anything's possible.

"Well, I showed up in my apartment, told me I was gonna damn near choke my roommate to death without meanin' to and to chill the fuck out, and then I disappeared and got hit by the price hard enough I almost thought I was gonna die right there. Now I ain't got a clue why that changed the future so much --"

"Get to the fucking point," you say. You _don't_ say how fucking good it feels to hear his voice, you don't mention the nightmares you have about being fifteen again, about being that person and taking everything out on _him_ , you don't apologize for how long it's been since you talked to anyone. _'Get to the fucking point',_ that was all you had for him. _As the Prince of Heart, thou shalt know only destruction. Master thyself and thine aspect. Thus shall the Door be opened._

"Sounds like I need some fuckin' help with anger management," Dave says, "and Rose thought you were the guy to talk to."

You let the call lapse into silence for a while, waiting for... something, you're not sure. Finally, slowly, you hear yourself answer.

"Meet me at my place tomorrow at nine. I'll text you the gate code."

You hang up before either of you can say anything else and let the cell fall from your hand to clatter against the roof, take in a long breath of cool night air, adjust your shades, get yourself back under control.

Tomorrow's a day away and you'll deal with it when it comes. Tonight you've got a job to do.


	20. Act 2-7: Hum An Unfamiliar Song

_when you catch the light, there's a flash of wild creatures_

_before the stone age of the preachers and husbands and wives_

_when you catch the light, the flood changes direction_

_and darkens the lens that projects my disguise_

[ _neko case - wild creatures_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VJI90ZZ1aM)

 

* * *

 

 

When you wake up to natural light streaming in through the window, _touching you,_ you try _so hard_ not to scream, probably because something in the back of your pan still remembers where you are. You don't even realize you weren't sleeping in a 'coon, either. Wait, don't you? Maybe you halfway remember if you're remembering enough to think about how you don't remember.

At least when the door to this block you don't recognize breaks in half and flies off its hinges, it's a little comforting! Only one troll always breaks doors in this exact way almost efurry time he tries to get them open. Equius looks wildly around the block before sighing in relief. For some reason he seems to be okay with the fact that it's _daylight oh my god what is going on._

"Nepeta, is there a particular reason you've awoken screaming?" Your moirail raises his brow, although he does look a bit concerned! "And that you've attempted to hide yourself in the corner?" You blink, half because the light hurts and half because you don't understand why he doesn't understand.

" _It's light out_ , _"_ you hiss. "I'm just trying to get away from the sun! It's natural to be a little furreaked out!" He crosses the block to reach you, _right through a thick beam of sunlight_ , and it doesn't do any more than make him wince.

"We are on Earth," Equius says, "not Alternia. The sun is not a threat." Forcing yourself to look at the window, it slowly pawns on you that your eyes hurt, but it's not as bright as you thought it was. Also, neither of you is burned, which is a good thing as far as you're concerned! Slowly, you force your shaking paws to relax and your claws to retract.

"It is alright," he says, and ever so carefully strokes your cheek. You try to breathe more normally and make a little purrogress. "We aren't in danger. It would be ideal if you could regain full control of yourself. I believe I have already done more than enough damage to this structure myself." Oops. You slowly manage to calm your tail, which you just accidentally used to knock at least five holes in the wall and a few splintery dents in the floor. During your freak-out you didn't really think about the impacts. It's too hard to keep it still enough, though, it's still lashing back and forth, threatening to start smashing things again.

"We're on Earth already?" You try to remember last night but after you said hello to Karkitty -- _ohmygod you finally met him in purrson and he's even cuter than he was on the extranet --_ there's mostly just lot of fuzz. When you slide to the floor, Equius sits next to you and lets your tail smack into his open hand, encircling it with his fingers. At least he doesn't have to be as depressingly careful with it as he does with the rest of you. And... the rest of almost everything. You purr and nuzzle into the hand by your cheek while his other gently pets your tail, sending little sparkly shivers up your spine. "Oh yeah, I guess we are. But I barely remember last night and why is it daytime?"

"We were advised to make use of our first sopor tablets to begin adjusting to a diurnal schedule similar to that of the native species. It was mentioned at some point that a small percentage of trolls adjust poorly to the tablets, at least for a few nights." You frown at nothing in particular.

"I guess I furrgot some things," you mumble. "Did we meet the alien we're supposed to be living with?" Something feels weird until you realize that he's dressed, he must have been awake for a little while already, and you're naked, not that it really matters. The two of you are so far beyond any doubts or odd feelings about your meowrallegiance that it hardly ever occurs to you to think about this stuff.

"No," he says, sounding miffed. "After some brief confusion with a sentry, we simply found a note pinned to the hive's front door... handwritten in Sol-Common using the Alternian alphabet upside down, for some reason... stating that the hive's original owner was out for the night and would be returning sometime today, and that we should make ourselves at home and avoid attempting to enter any blocks secured with keypads, as, apparently, entering the wrong code even once or attempting to break in would most likely kill us, which our hivemate would rather avoid 'because cleaning up after us would be a pain in the ass.' Not the friendliest welcome, but I suppose it could have been worse."

You lean forward and nestle your head in between his thoracic mounds, snuggling your arms around his thorax itself. When you were younger you couldn't make them meet, but now that he's not growing so quickly, you can lace your fingers together a bit.

"I'm still sleeeepy, and they sound like a big jerk. What's the hive like other than the deathtraps? Did we end up with an alien fishy?"

"Possibly. It does seem far too large so serve as a lowblood's hive. Apart from several blocks that were indeed secured with keypads and thus remain a mystery, I did discover some things of... ahem, interest, at least to me."

"Purrlease tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means?" You can feel an irritated rumble from his secondary vocal chambers, and also the steady beat of his bloodpusher, which is much nicer.

"There were several large blocks with various sorts of machinery scattered about, as well as what appeared to be a few deactivated robots of intriguing complexity. It seems our hivemate is a troll -- rather, a human, of some talent." He clears his throat fur real this time.

"... _Pleeaase_ tell me that didn't mean what I think it meant."

"There _was_ one block dedicated to rather fine artwork of creatures resembling musclebe --"

You groan loudly before he can finish, sliding lower down his body.

"Now I'm stuck with _two_ weirdos. AC saunters out of the block with a contemptuous flick of her tail." He chuckles and you pawnder the mystery of how people manage to look at him, talk to him, and somehow not see the person that you do.

"CT waits patiently for the huntress to return and admit that she is a hypocrite."

"AC smashes in through a window and tears into the big sweaty weirdo musclebeast with her mighty fangs and razor claws!"

"CT thinks that _purrhaps_ both majestic creatures ought to cease horsing around for the moment and become more comfortably settled in their hive."

" _AC_ thinks that it's _udderly_ silly not to go out exploring right away!"

" _CT_ is of the opinion that AC should consider the merits of _pawsing_ and gathering information before exploring an alien planet."

" _AC_ is of the opinion that _CT_ is a muscle-butthead _and_ a culljoy," you whine. Equius strokes along the length of your tail and your head droops from the sensation. "Fiiiine, maybe we can get human extranet and stick our noses into a few things." A worrying thought pounces on you. "Wait, but we don't have husktops, do we?" You pull away slowly and wish you'd been the one who woke up first and had all the answers.

"It would seem that we've been provided one each, actually, though they're of alien make. I left yours on the piece of furniture on the other side of this... peculiar recuperation platform. Humans seem a slightly... lewd race, to me." He's totally right, the sort of squishy looking thing you woke up on looks _way_ too much like a concupiscent platform fur comfort.

" _Equius,"_ you whisker. _"Do you think they sleep and pail on the same platform?"_

You're furrankly relieved when he doesn't answer.

"Well, I'm going to start researching stuff, so you go do it too! Double the hunters means double the purrey."

"Neighturally, but perhaps you should dress yourself in case our mysterious hivemate arrives." That hadn't even occurred to you. Looking around the block again, you see the cloth based polyethylene reinfurrced traveling utility cattainer you brought on the floor by the side of the sleepy-thing, last night's clothes scattered across the floor. Normally you would know every de-tail about the area around you! Hopefully the side effects of these stupid sopurr tablets won't be this bad every... morning? Ewww, you have to be awake in the _day_ , that's not going to help you think clearly at _all_.

Reluctantly, you get back up, basking for a moment in the residual shivery lightning from his tail-petting, reach up under his shoulder-length hair and scritch at the back of his neck. You can't see his eyes through his ocular light impact dimmers but you know they're shut, and you _can_ see the tension that's almost always twined through his muscles bleed off a little, his shoulders slumping fur a second or two even after you're finished. After a quick prowl across the block and a deliberate snubbing of his disapproving comments about clean clothes, you have your shorts and shirt on (the jacket can wait until you go out) and you're sniffing around the husktop, which you seem to have had the presence of mind to slot in last night. Ugh, you really want to remember last night! Even your memories of Purrse are all weird. That doesn't make much sense at first, but maybe you just couldn't get all of your dream memories back into a pan that was all messed up, which sucks! You think something a little important might have happened, because you might have seen a human dreamer and the cute little Mayor of the poor clawed up town your tower is in was giving a big speech about... bluh, it's all gone. What is a Mayor, anyway? You'll try to find out tonight, but purrobably it's a less important position of authority to help keep parts of Furse's moon in line, since the King and Queen have their paws full on the lower-world.

Two hours later Equius comes by to check on you and your face is smooshed against the desk. Reading all the weird supurrimposed letters on human netzones makes your head hurt and you really don't know if you learned anything that was worth it. Aliens are _so weird_ that you don't even know where to start.

"Equius," you say, muffled by the cool wood on your cheek, "it's impossible. I catn't figure _anything_ out." Then you realize that's not _totally_ true. "Well, I did find out one thing that's _really important_ , but nothing else."

"What did you learn?"

 _"Earth has meowbeasts too, and there are sooo many videos and so many pictures_."

"Did you really spend the last two hours doing research, or did you spend most of it watching videos of meowbeasts?"

"AC refuses to answer. She is fur too busy sulking beclaws everything is confusing."

"I thought as much. I, however, used my time to attempt to acquire vital information about the human spe --"

"Nooo you didn't, I bet you spent half of your time archiving gross hoofbeast porn --"

"It is not _pornography_ , it is _fine art --_ "

You swat his arm with your tail and he curses, then scolds himself for cursing. Dork.

"Oh, clawm down, that probably won't even bruise. I'm sooo booored, I have to get out of the hive befur I go crazy." Your moirail knows you aren't just 'horsing' around, either, you just have too much energy to sit around on the extranet, and when you get too bored, things start to show mysterious claw and bite marks that _pawbviously_ weren't your fault, why would anyone even think that? _Rude._

After pulling your face off the desk, you close your husktop and put on your jacket.

"You shouldn't leave the hive without identification," Equius says, "as well as some amount of human currency." He hands you a little leathery thing, which is full of thin polyethylene sheets and _so many_ compartments. It also contains a polyethylene _card_ that has your name and some other stuff on it, and... _oh no._ Equius sees the look on your face and sighs.

"Yes, Nepeta, human currency is made of paper."

You are feeling furry conflicted about this.

"No, you may not rip it to shreds when you get bored."

He is unimpurressed by your whine _or_ your sad meowbeast eyes.

 

* * *

 

Once you figure out how to actually leave your new hive, you discover something that is exciting and pawful at the same time: _there are so many aliens out here_ , and they _all_ look squishy and sort of edible. It's pretty ofurwhelming, actually! Getting around isn't really a problem, because you are extremely nimble, and also beclaws the humans give you a wide berth. It doesn't seem like very many of them are happy about having trolls around, which is dumb.

It's also so _creepy_ how few of them are wearing their signs. You guess that isn't a big deal here. They're all supposed to have bright red blood, so maybe it's less impurrtent to them all. You never thought too much about caste stuff; there were always more valuable things to care about, like chasing fast things, and painting! But the rest of the Empire were always pailing themselves over that gross tangly political hairball, and also culling each other. It seemed to you that the furry best trolls to cull were the jerks, and there were way better things to pail yourself over. Frequently. And not at _all_ obsessively, that's completely different from stalking your prey for sweeps and you're sure it's super normal and entirely necessary.

You spend a long time just pawing around and looking at everything. Humans have a lot of stratuspiercers and their hivestems look like the actual hives _share walls_. There must be a lot of culling over that. There are some nice alleyways to skulk through but none of them go anywhere interesting; only one has anything in it, really, and that's just a human lowblood ( _maybe_ a lowbood?) who runs away when they see you.

That's another thing that makes efurrything feel so off. The aliens all dress funny and it's confusing and distracting. Their males are all dressed more like you, and their females are all dressed like males, and getting used to that could be a small purroblem. It wasn't the same with Karkitty and Kanaya, beclaws they're you're friends and you've had a billion sweeps to stop noticing their clothes. Except maybe Karkitty's, he is _so adorable all of the time_ that it's hard not to notice everything about him all at once. Sometimes it's hard not to think about everything about him all at once! It's almost like you can actually see him.

Wait, no, you think you actually _do_ see him on the actual street!? Your tail whips out and hits something hard, which is fur the best even if the weird hum up your spine feels gross, you don't want to break any aliens by mistake.

It can't be him, though, because this Karkitty-purrson is wearing a very pretty dress and doesn't look angry about anything. They have almost the same horns, this troll's are just slightly bigger. They even have the same sign, but this troll's is in bright red, which is furry strange and could be some kind of political statement. You wouldn't really know.

Then Not-Karkitty is gone and you have to slink away fast so nobody notices the crumbling indent that just so happens to be in this ferrocrete illumination pillar.

 

* * *

 

A few hours of observing Earth (or at least this city, which had a lot of names; you think that you are somehow living in a city that's inside another city) have lead you to conclude that you have learned nothing about anything and that coming to live on a mysterious and totally new world was _the best idea you've ever had_ and _much_ prefurrable to being stuck on some stuffy spaceship for the rest of your life. What would you even _do_ there now that nobody is supposed to be hunting squeakbeasts in other galaxies anymore?

You're getting tired and you would really like to curl up and take a nap, but maybe just finding somewhere to sit down will work for now, but where? Can you go into these structures? Most of them are still very mysterious and you could not pawsibly guess what they're for even if you tried, although you aren't really trying very hard.

Then, fate shows you the way. It's getting dark which is very nice, and there's an argon sign on one structure with _the best shape that can exist_ and words your creepy pan-modifications read as "THE BLACK CAT."

There's a little queue going in and there aren't any other trolls in it, not that you've been seeing furry many other trolls, and a large human (well, he is large for a human, at least) is looking at things and then letting them in one by one. Loud sounds are coming from inside and sometimes you get spooked by lots of noises all at once, but you can purrobably handle yourself!

The human at the door is taller than you, and you discover that he wants to see your card thingy and you have to give him some human money _god you want to tear it up and play in it so bad_ or he won't let you in. Equius was right about the card and the alien money. He's usually right about things, which is one of the thirty million reasons he is the furry most important troll in existence.

Inside, everything is darker than it was outside, although there are some flashy lights that keep on startling you and it is impawsibly loud in here. After squishing into a corner and just watching for a while, you think that humans come here to use soporifics and be, um, cheek-bruisingly public about casual flushed stuff.

Moving around is hard, all of the noise makes it hard for you to focus right, but you do handle yourself pretty well; it helps to try reeeaally hard to listen to just one or two things so all the other things don't ofurload your thinkpan. It's hard, but it's working, although you don't know how much longer you can stand it. Pick a noise, pick a noise...

"... apologize, but... not a..." Augh! You can _almost_ hear this conversation.

"... evwer that evwen _means_..."

"... to please rem... vicinity of... through your... and out the back of your skull."

A troll with zig-zaggy horns shoves through the crowd and the ripple of bodies knocks you off balance.

"... _not_ gonna leavwe here wvithout meeting _one_ damn..."

You thought he was a female for a second, but it looks like he's another crossdresser, which is fine, you just didn't really think it was _that_ common. Once he's gone you stalk his trail backwards to figure out what was going on _there_. Purrobably something stupid, and you'll meet somebody stupid, and... oh no, the noise _is_ getting to you, you're getting irritable. You should leave soon so you don't do anything you'll regret.

The purrey at the end of the trail, which is a counter with lots of containers of liquid on it and even more stacked on the wall on the other side, turns out to be the opposite of stupid. The opposite of stupid, pawbviously, is _friend!_

"No, neither of us is available, no you may not purchase anyone a drink, and no --" she blinks, stares. "Oh. Never mind. I... didn't expect to see you again so soon." Oooh, you forgot how nice the things she always wears are. It makes sense, though, beclaws she only wears clothes that she made fur herself.

"Hi!" You try not to wince at the noise, but you're coming up on your limit, you think. "Um, sorry Kanaya, I was so excited last night I furgot to say hello." She just smiles, though. "It's really good to see you!"

"It's lovely seeing you again, as well. Forgive my rudeness, Blossom, allow me to introduce you." Somehow you didn't realize she wasn't alone. After today, humans are all tangled up in your pan; they're hard to even tell apart. "Rose, this is my friend Nepeta. Nepeta, this is my matesprit, Rose."

_Ohmygod she has a matesprit **that's so cute.**_

"Charmed," the human... aagh, girl, stupid clothes, says. For once there's a human around wearing her sign, at least, although it's some weird human one, a white alien skull contrasting furry strongly against a layered black and violet dress.

"Yeah! Whatefur that meant, if it was a good thing."

"You know," Rose says slowly, "I believe we may have crossed paths before." This doesn't make any sense at all.

"That doesn't really make any sense at all. I just moved into my hive on this planet last night, so it seems a little bit impawsible."

"Oh, it's quite possible. It may be dark in our dreams, but it's not so dark one can't spot a... compatriot, a few times."

Oh. _Ohhh._ You're not really sure what to say!

" _Ohhh_ ," you say. It does make sense, and you try to keep your huntress's pride out of things, it won't do you any good to be mad that you got caught on the hunt. There's always someone better. That's just how nature works.

"I don't know if this is a topic suited for public places," Kanaya says, eyes darting to meet her -- _oh my god she was lonely fur sooo long but she finally met somebody --_ matesprit's. "It remains unclear what might endanger us."

Rose's lip quirks. She has a graceful smile that's a lot like Kanaya's. You're _definitely_ sure that they will be happy together forever.

"Certainly, there may be some risk. Shall we set the subject aside for the moment, then?" Her light pink arm drapes itself deli-cat-ely around Kanaya's shoulders and you manage not to squeal from cuteness overload. They are both just so prissy, it's _purrfect_.

"Sure! I need to leave soon, though," you say, nibbling on your lower lip. "I don't want to just stalk out on you, but I have to beclaws there's _fur_ too many loud noises and Equius said to be careful not to accidentally cull anyone." Self-consciously, you wind your tail around your leg. It's done damage enough for one night! Or day, whatever!

"I'm sure we'll be seeing you around," Rose says, which is weird, and she just smirks when Kanaya gives her some kind of Look. ' _We,' oh no they're CUTE._ Why is efurryone so _adorable_ all of the time?

"Karkat and I are often logged into Trollian, if you can make your way through the absurdities necessary to run the program. Our handles remain the same; I trust you haven't forgotten?"

You are honestly almost offended.

"carcinoGeneticist and grimAuxiliatrix, duh! It's only been half a sweep, I'm not _dumb_."

"My apologies. I am well aware of your intellect." Kanaya sighs. "More aware than most of our friends used to be, I believe." The frown on your face isn't directed at her, or something you're doing on purpose. You remember very, very clearly what some of your friends thought about you and it's never really stopped hurting, not all the way. Kanaya was never mean to you about anything, though. As far as you know Kanaya's never mean to anyone. Unless she's killing them.

A sudden random shout from the colorful middle part where all the _lewd_ stuff is still happening makes you startle noticeably, then flush with embarrassment.

"I think I should go. Bye, Kanaya! Bye, Rose!"

And then you're outside, leaning on a wall, trying to catch your breath, barely able to feel guilty about whoever that was you knocked over on your way to the door. The night air and reduction in ambient volume is pawsibly the nicest thing ever. When you've clawmed down some, you head back to the hive. It's a good thing your sense of direction is almost as sharp as your claws! A huntress never gets lost.

Just as you get to the big weird gate outside, a human is suddenly... _there._ She -- no, dammit, he, why is this so _hard_ \-- is in all black and you didn't even _smell_ him there in the darkness.

"So," he says. You really don't like the sound of his voice. There aren't really any feelings in it at all. "New roomie number one, huh?" The human has spiky ocular light impact dimmers on even though it's dark out, which is mostly weird because they're not nocturnal at all. You can see just fine, but shouldn't he be almost blind or something?

"Um, I think so?" He unzips the jacket he was wearing and you can see his sign, which is... an orange hat? Furry strange. Is he really going to be as weird as Equius? You don't know if you can repress _two_ trolls', well, peoples', worth of gross hoofbeast 'art,' and the note he left was _encoded_ even though it was your only warning about lethal traps. "I'm Nepeta Leijon."

"Yep." He looks you up and down slowly and you know those movements intimately: he's deciding where the two of you fall on the predator/prey cattinuum in an expert, instinctive-looking way, and without really thinking about it, your paw inches toward your specibus (those were _so_ easy to smuggle in, it's like no one really cares who has them and the legal stuff is just a bunch of furmalities). "Kid, please. You don't start any shit, then there doesn't have to be any shit."

 _Oh no_ you are _not_ going to let some weirdo condescend to you like that, no _way_. A little switch clicks into place in your pan.

"No, there doesn't, but if you're going to look at me like you think I'm purrey and then talk down to me, don't blame me when your tasty guts are all over the street and I'm painting pretty pictures with your blood!" There is purrobably a lot of fang in your smile right now and you do not care. He chuckles.

"Fair enough. Old habits, am I right? Dirk Strider, master swordsman. And you're some kind of troll furry, apparently. Good enough for me." Dirk turns to the gate (there are actually two of them, and you have to enter a code to get to the inside one where there's a human guard) and unlocks it before sarcastically waving you through. You don't take your eyes off him as you stalk slowly by. He's only barely audible as you follow the path to the next gate and you're furry nervous about that.

When you overhear an _almost_ but not _completely_ silent sigh, a very tired one that purrobably nobody else would have heard at all, you can't help but whip your head back over your shoulder to see what he's doing. His dumb spiky anime dimmers are partially off of his face while he rubs his temples with the fingers of one hand, and then, a split second before his other hand pushes the dimmers back into place, you meet his eyes.

_astheprinceofheartthoushaltknowonlydestructionastherogueofheartthoushaltacquireanddivideemptyplainsawastelandofhotdrywindforestsofbloodandlifeandferaljoyaswordforasoulcoldlayeredoncoldlayeredoncoldlayeredonbloodlayeredoverhotdrywindablackandwhitepathvehiclesfilledwithpeoplepassingbynevergettingclosertothemovementandthetalkingsomethingsmallcoveredinthornshuddledcryingwhilethefacesgobythoushaltknowonlydestructionthoushaltknowonlydestructionthoushalt **what the fuck did you do to me** take it back purrlease i didn't ask for **WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO** take it back IT HURTS TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT_

Something clatters to the ground. The dimmers? Dirk is wild-eyed with a sword in his hands and a shaking body and you... you...

The guard at the gate recognizes you as you leap straight over and there's not really anything else between you and your block and you slam the door and rip up the fabric on the sleeping platform and it's the only soft thing anywhere so you curl up on top and hide but there's no escape because it's already inside you and

familiar words familiar hands almost never remembers how to be this careful but

squeezing as hard as you can and

 _"it hurts" "It's alright, you're alright" "it hurts it HURTS" "Are you injured? What happened?"_ your bloodpusher is being torn apart, choking on alien agony but

slowly, things begin to

_(you begin to)_

Come back together

To where you're wrapped around your moirail like you think he'll disappear if you let him go for even an instant.

"H-he _hurts_ ," you sob into Equius's chest. "I stole something, I didn't mean it, it was an accident, I took it out of him and it's just a tiny splinter but it _hurts so much,_ it won't _stop_ ," and time melts away, minutes, maybe even hours, the fuzz of another world tugs at you but can't quite catch hold.

You open your eyes, and you're not sure you've seen Equius this scared since all of that stuff happened back when you first got your tail.

"I'm okay," you mumble weakly.

"Does it still hurt?" He loosens up some when you pap vaguely at his face.

"No, I'm purrfectly fine," and he's not stupid but he's not you, either. After a few minutes of incredibly explicit mutual shooshing, he leaves so you can fall asleep the rest of the way. You miss the warmth of real sopor, although at least all the fabric keeps in some heat and the stupid tablet sort of works. Everything is confusing and really dumb.

Eventually you do fall asleep, lulled by the familiar white noise of welding and clanking metal from downstairs, and as Furse approaches, you wonder who this pain is waiting for, how much longer it's going to have to stay inside of you instead, bleeding away at your soul before it's finally delivered.


	21. Act 2-8: Lock Up Your Heroes (RGB)

_then, looking upwards, i strain my eyes_

_and try to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites_

_from the passenger seat as you are driving me home_

_"do they collide?", i ask, and you smile_

[ _death cab for cutie - passenger seat_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKmGJParYno)

 

* * *

Your thighs tremble for a second and then give up the whole rest of the way, there's nothing you can do about it; the feeling of his weird, soft, spiral-y ridges slowly pulling out of you is honestly intense enough when you _haven't_ just had an orgasm. Landing with your face on one of his cute alien boy-boobs is a bonus, though, it's super comfortable. You decide to just pretend you're so tired you can't even move your face. Subterfuge at its finest!

Neither of you says anything for a little while, breathing heavy and fast. These moments are kind of nice, the ones that are quiet in that nice and special way where you sort of feel so in tune with each other that you don't need to speak. Not that you don't like talking! Talking is actually one of your favorite things to do, when you have a chance to do it. And he's great to talk to, which is how this whole relationship started in the first place. It would have been pretty stupid to start dating somebody you didn't actually like.

The problem is that now you have to take a shower and go spend hours wandering around giving orders to a bunch of people who are apparently actually experts in their fields (does that make you the queen of all their fields?), then more hours figuring out how to get them to even _sort of_ process the weirder math of your really really super complicated prototype when about half of that math is... well... it's kind of just your best attempt at using letters and numbers to try to explain things about the way the universe works that are _technically_ impossible for anyone who isn't you to comprehend. Nobody ever said life was easy, and everybody on the station does their best, but sometimes a girl just wants to be naked and sticky and alone with someone warm and important. And to get a chance to rest her vocal cords, wow. Things are easier when you can work on a small enough scale to just do it all yourself, especially because pretty much every major government in the solar system prefers you to do your experiments off-planet. It's not like anybody's died yet, although you guess you have caused twenty two billion dollars in property damage over the last twelve years, and wrecked space stations scare people less than craters no one's supposed to get close to for the next century.

Tavros is always so warm, his caste runs hotter than humans do. It's nice, his sort of half-dolphin half-lizard skin is pretty much a permanently cuddly heating pad. You also like the slow, hot trickle of troll slime out from inside you and down your thighs. There's a lot of it and it makes you think about super old TV shows John used to dig up to show you, the kid ones where people get slime all over them, except this is sexy real slime in your vagina, not the weird fake stuff that gets dumped on people while weird fake audience members laugh. To be fair, you've been pretty much totally covered in slime anyway, but _still._ Context is important!

Sometimes it's freezing on Perimetros (which is technically the third space station specifically built to keep you away from inhabited locations; the US government's pretty good about funding your work. You did sort of accidentally save the human race, although you're not really happy about that particular invention ending up with the military, there's been _so much drama_ ) and even in some of the research facilities on Earth that you're allowed to use for little stuff... once in a while... you and your sort-of boyfriend aren't always in the same place, and you don't feel like _overusing_ the holds you've got over various people who'd be in trouble if information about some of the laws they let you break ever leaked.

"This is, really nice and I don't want it to be over, but don't you have, a lot of work to do? Last cycle I don't think, that the rest of the scienterr -- scientists, were very happy, with those three hours you were," and you can almost hear the shy little smile, "busy with other things."

"Just a couple more minutes! They can handle themselves, they're grown-ups like everybody else."

"I don't think that, being like everybody else, actually does much good with this stuff, for any of them?"

You finally give in and rearrange yourself so you can kiss him. Another little gush of hot slurry -- that's such a gross word, but it's _sort of_ less weird than slime, maybe? -- finds its way out of you and you chew on the inside of your lip to keep yourself from kissing him harder and trying to go for another round. It just never seems like you have enough time to do everything you want! It also seems like there's always _way_ more slurry stuff in your junk than there should even be room for, which is pretty cool but also means you really, really need to watch yourself so you don't start unexpectedly leaking while you're doing something else. That could be a little bit awkward for the people around you.

"Well, let's get going then!"

You try to snap your fingers but screw it up and everything becomes jade light and a split second of strange whispers, and then you're in the bathroom, and after a mysteriously and totally innocently long shower, it's off to work!

 

* * *

You swear to _god_ , the next time somebody drops something that's both radioactive and explosive, you are going to fire a warning shot and close your eyes to try to make your aim as awful as Jake's. Flopping into bed, you notice Tavros is absent; probably off reading cute little Alternian storybooks in his own separate room. It took a little bit of time for you to understand why matespritship meant needing a lot of time apart, but you think that now you've got a better grasp on the difference between flushed and pale stuff.

Then again, you haven't exactly been perfect about keeping them apart. You think you could have a pale relationship without any issues, but... keeping things that trolls think of as pale away from your interactions with Tavros is kind of hard! The two of you had to have a lot of talks about that, actually, and in the end when you said you were really really sorry but you honestly didn't know if you could avoid some pale stuff no matter how hard you tried, he sort of looked away and mumbled what turned out to be the revelation that he knew he was a horrible disgusting pervert for it but maybe that would be okay with him if it wasn't, you know, too much?

When you hugged him after that, it was days before he could look you in the eye without blushing so hard you thought he might burst a few blood vessels. The talk about what all of this was going to mean in terms of his quadrants made you kind of nervous; were you messing up his life really bad? That was the last thing you wanted!

In the end he just said that he didn't exactly see himself filling any other quadrants soon or probably ever and you'd have to 'traverse that river or gap spanning constructed edifice' when you came to it.

You're still thinking about the project and trying to figure out what you've been _overlooking_ for so long even though you should really be getting some

               

* * *

sleep. Oh, that was fast, yay!

When you look around the top floor of your tower, you're actually pretty surprised to see... oh no, you forgot his name... well, the boy with extra horns and _super_ cool eyes, still dream-asleep exactly where he was the last time you saw him. Has he been awake all of this time? It's been at least twenty hours now! That can't be healthy. You've seen what happens when somebody doesn't get enough sleep and it's no fun at all. It's fine when you do it, obviously, but that's not the point here.

Aww, he's cute though, sprawled all awkwardly over a pile of blankets. He's like a sleepy person-sized puppy! Better just leave him alone for now.

You go and look out the window, Skaia blazing above. The clouds always have a lot of interesting stuff in them, and you're sure today won't be any different!

 

* * *

 

John good-naturedly poking a troll you've never met with his elbow, taking an elbow back and laughing.

A troll on... is that Jane's operating table? Oh no, that's a lot of blood... Do burgundy blooded trolls have blood that bright?

Yourself, snuggled up against a troll who you don't think is Tavros? Wait, what does that mean? Are you going to break up? That would be so sad.

Rose and another troll you don't know -- oh. Wow. _Wow._ Is it wrong that you kind of wish you could record this one and then watch it in more detail?

Jake cursing very creatively on the firing range back home on Hellmurder Island while Grandpa pats his shoulder to try to encourage him. He'll get it someday!

Roxy, looking more determined than you've ever seen her as she pounds away at a keyboard so fast one of the keys actually breaks, someone handing her a replacement immediately.

The silhouette of someone kneeling over a body that isn't moving, pounding a fist into the ground over and over... who are they? Oh god, that's not good.

Rose wearing black negligee and a predatory grin as she advances on -- um. Okay. You're pretty sure _that's_ not something anyone else was ever supposed to know about. Really, you should look away, but you don't. Whoops!

Dave punching Dirk in the face hard enough to knock him right off his feet and send his shades, snapped into two pieces, skittering across a hardwood floor.

Yourself, shaking with a knife held to your throat, a single drop of blood sliding down your skin where the blade must have been pressed too close.

Black ships covered in spikes and strange emblems, firing beams out into the darkness of space even as return fire from somewhere too far to see reduces them to spinning chunks of metal.

 

* * *

 

You know what, you're done watching clouds for now. You're starting to feel a little bit sick and more than a little bit scared. Maybe it's time to go outside and talk to some of the locals. If you're lucky, you might run into that cute little lady painter you met the first time you woke up here so many years ago. She was so nice! It's not like no one else here is nice; lots of Prospitians are. There was just something different about her.

Flickering to the street outside, you stretch and sigh. The warm sun-like rays are such a nice change from Perimetros's sterile white lightstrips and biting cold. Walking along gold cobblestones, a few carapaceons you know catch sight of you and you wave. They always seem so excited when you notice them, which is cute, but also makes you feel sort of bad! You're nobody special.

Oh, yay! A pair of tall, wavy horns flash for an instant through the crowd, so you thread your way through the little bodies to where he's sitting and plop down next to him. He puts away his too-small Prospitian instrument, something kind of like an acoustic guitar but weirdly shaped.

"What's a fine sister like you all up to on this motherfuckin' miracle of a day we got before us?" Gamzee grins as contagiously as always and you smile back, then sigh just a little bit.

"I don't know about today," you say. "Before I went to sleep I was trying to make my stupid invention work and I _still_ can't make any progress! If I wasn't me I think I would've given up by now." It's _so stupid._ It's driving you crazy! Every time you test it there's another failure, and you'd test it on yourself to see why if screwing up wouldn't almost definitely kill you instantly.

"Aw, you'll motherfuckin' get it soon. Messiahs got big plans for you, any old fucker could see that." You lean against the warm wall and shut your eyes for a moment. "I hate to be up and changin' the subject, but uh... Tavbro doin' okay over there?"

"Oh! Yeah, he's doing really good. We're headed back to Earth soon, either once I'm done with my project or I get so mad about it that I need to take a break, and I think Jane and I are actually going to get the rest of his spinal column together."

"Fuck yeah," the clown says. "Brother up and found himself a bitchtits matesprit." For maybe the first time, something other than sleepy contentment rolls over his face. "I'll be thankin' the motherfuckin' Messiahs for that all the rest of my life."

You sit in silence for a little while.

"I think your paint is running a little bit," you say gently, and he carefully wipes away a small streak of purple from beneath his eye.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

A while passes, you're not really sure how long; half an hour, maybe. It's always nice, hanging out with this dorky clown. He's been here almost as long as you and he's always been a good friend. You'd have been freaked out that he knew your boyfriend, except you'd already started to think that all of the 'Heroes' were connected somehow, considering you and all of your siblings and Dave and all of his siblings are Heroes and every other Hero someone stumbles on is a friend, a friend of a friend, a friend's boyfriend or girlfriend... Honestly, it scares you pretty bad, but there's not much to do but keep your eyes open. As you're pondering this, the Bard toys with his juggling clubs, letting them dance through the air between his hands and spin through his fingers with an ease that must come from years and years of practice.

You remember him telling you about his role as a Hero the first time you met; he was terrified, saying the words in his head called him the Bard of Rage and told him he would 'inspire oblivion', and that he was scared it meant he was going to hurt someone. 'Witch of Space,' you said, that you were supposed to 'shape the world,' and since Space was under your command, then maybe it was Rage itself that he was supposed to 'inspire' to oblivion and not other people. Neither of you was really sure and you still can't be, but you've never seen the poor clown so much as hurt a fly. All he does is wander the streets in a happy daze, play whatever instruments he can find, and juggle his clubs. The Prospitians adore him and you really don't blame them!

Eventually you feel like wandering some more, maybe getting something to eat, and he's a little sad to see you go, but both of you know you'll be running into each other again soon enough.

"Maybe you could ask your Messiah guys if they have any miracles for me," you sigh. "I think I'm going to need one to get my stupid work done." He looks at you for a long moment, purple-ringed pupils suddenly penetrating in a way you've never seen before.

"Sister," he says, "I think you're already makin' miracles all on your motherfuckin' own."

When you're awake on Prospit you prefer to walk most of the time, even though you don't have to; everything is pretty and there are so many people to meet and places to find. Today you decide to spend some time at this nice little place a mile or so down the road where you usually go when you're stumped by something or just need to relax in general, a cafe that serves good tea and has the _best_ little cakes. You're just barely halfway there when you start to hear the screams.

 

* * *

 

When you get back to the street you'd only really just left, Gamzee's lute-thingy is still lying up against the wall. No one's screaming any more. A crowd's gathered around the mouth of the alley just next to your hangout spot, low, scared muttering moving in waves. You start to push through the crowd. No one stops you, of course, but one Prospitian shakily touches your arm to get your attention.

"You might not w-want to see this," he says, and winces at the sound of another onlooker stumbling away and vomiting into the nearest gilded trash can.

"Why hasn't someone called the guards?", another is shouting furiously. You turn to the street, where a patrol of two carapaceons with swords at their belts and crested shields on their backs are walking down the street as if they don't even see anything out of the ordinary. Another Prospitian runs up to a guard. There's a brief conversation you can't hear, angry words, and then one guard shoves the speaker hard enough to knock him down and the two return to their patrol, disappearing casually around a corner.

You make your way through densely-packed bodies, wishing you were taller; as it is you can't even see over their heads like just about everyone else you know. The first thing you _do_ see is one of Gamzee's clubs, embedded in the alley wall ten feet up, surrounded by cracks and a slow drift of stone dust from beneath the thin layer of gold coating everything in this place.

That Prospitian was right after all. You didn't want to see this. You never want to see anything like this again in your life. A wild thought moves through your head, _Dave, Dave could fix this,_ but you know that he can't, because to fix this he'd have to know everything about the events leading up to it.

You don't consider yourself squeamish, Grandpa raised the four of you better than that, but no amount of parenting could possibly have prepared you for... _this._ Your hands cover your mouth as your stomach lurches. It might be you on your knees puking in another few seconds.

The walls and floor of the alley are absolutely splattered with purple blood, so much that if you didn't know better you might think a paint bomb had gone off. Gamzee lies at the center of it all, gut split wide open, alien innards torn and scattered across the ground. Long, deep ruts are gouged along the walls, cut through gold and stone alike, along with one crater that must have been made by an enormous blunt impact.

His other club, half-broken, is still clutched tight in the dead hand of one severed arm that lies at least ten feet away from the body.

Everything is warped and strange in your head, your sight. Not even sure what you're doing, at least at first, you take step after slow step toward what used to be your friend, trying not to slip. Every part of you is shaking harder than it ever has in your life and you can't make it stop. Finally you make it there, kneel by the body, thick purple blood staining your dress. A look of pain and terror is etched, eternally, on his gore and paint smeared face, glassy eyes turned up toward Skaia's sacred light.

You drag trembling fingers across his eyelids, barely sure what you're doing, and after a few seconds, tears pouring down your face, you start to scream, words in your voice that you can't even identify, slamming a fist into the rough alley floor over and over, more blood splashing up onto your dress with every impact.

Hard little hands seem to pull you to your feet, steady you so that you don't fall. It's not really clear how you get from there to the outside of the alley. You want this to be a _real_ dream. If you could only dream like a normal person, none of this would be real when you woke up.

You never do throw up, and you don't know if you're glad or if you hate yourself for it. As you stumble out into the street you see another guard walking by, seeming to carefully avoid looking at you or the crowd.

He doesn't have the time to reach his sword before you smash him into the nearest wall, armor cracking with the collision. Whatever you're screaming into his filthy fucking face probably doesn't even matter as you drive your fist into that face again and again, cracking plates of chitin, utterly consumed by impotent rage. No one stops you. No one pulls you away.

It's not really clear to you if he's dead or not when you stop, just that the body slumps to the ground when you finally let go. Turning, the eyes of the entire crowd are on you, and in every face there is a grim, wordless vindication. Weaving drunkenly down paths of gold, you look over your shoulder, where not one bystander moves to help the guard you've just finished mauling. Their faces remain the same, and though no one speaks and the silence threatens to leave you deaf, their words might as well be written in huge neon lights: _'if they don't care about him or us, then why should we care about them?'_

 

* * *

The stairs up your tower seem to go on forever. You know you could just teleport all the way up, but something stops you, some feeling you don't want to have to name. When you finally make it to the top, the guy whose name you forgot is standing looking out a window in entirely the wrong direction. He doesn't seem to realize anyone's there until he hears you collapse onto a random cushion, staring up at the ceiling. Staring straight up just like him, but above you is just more fucking _gold_ instead of Skaia's guiding shine.

"Holy shit, are you... ith that... ith... oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!"_ That's right, he was one of the really smart ones, wasn't he? Of course he could put together more or less what the gore drying into your dress means. What was his _name?_ He knew him, you think. He must have known him, but what was his name?

He looks you in eyes that you think must look as dead as Gamzee's.

"Tell me thith ithn't what I think it ith." You don't even move. You think maybe you don't even remember how. You need Tavros, you need John, you need Grandpa, you need Bec, you need _someone_ , you need to wake up, but you can't just choose to wake up whenever you want. You'll wake up when your stupid fucking body wants you to, and in the meantime...

Hands grasp at your dress and shake you, not hard but the way you'd shake someone to snap them out of a bleak state of mind.

"JD, pleathe, _pleathe_ tell me..."

"Someone killed him," the words less spoken and more falling from your tongue on their own. "Someone killed Gamzee and _I don't even know why!_ " Slowly you curl up into yourself, fingers digging into the cushion's give, thick fabric already stained with tears.

"Who wath it. Wath it _her_? _WHO WATH IT?"_

"I don't know, I don't _know_ ," and then everything is lost to the endless wrack of your sobs. Sollux stands, looking down -- oh, that's right, that was his name -- at you, wounded and furious, and then slowly the pain you can somehow see in his luminous eyes becomes something else. He stares at you as you cry and a mutual friend's blood seeps into your furniture, and it seems like he has no idea what to do.

Caring would be pale, you realize. Trying to comfort you would be a romantic advance. There's nothing he can do, nothing he _would_ do. He stares down, a look on his face like shattered glass.

Sollux drops down on another cushion across from you and sits, still and silent, face in his hands. A while passes before your blurred eyes see the first little drops of gold seep in between his fingertips and fall to the floor.

"I want to wake up," you manage. "Why can't I just wake _up?_ "

You don't really have the words to describe the horrible little sound he makes.

"Thith happenth," he says quietly, more to himself than to you, you think. "Friendth die. It happenth. It'th not the firtht time. It'th not gonna be the latht." A few seconds pass, and the next thing he saw is barely audible. "Everybody dieth, in the end," and small convulsions move through your body, muscles in your stomach burn. "I'm thuch a fucking idiot. The Mage of Doom should know that better than anybody elthe." You look up at the bitter desolation of the face hidden behind his hands, still dripping yellow. "I'm the Mage of fucking Doom, tho how did I thtill forget?"

It's a long time after that before either of you says anything. You cry until you're out of tears, and then you cry some more. Somewhere along the line, you notice dimly that you're not the only one whose grief is audible.

You want to hug him. You want him to hug _you._ You don't _know_ what you want. If he was human, things would be different.

But he isn't human, and you remain on opposite sides of the room whose gilded walls now make you sick, make you think of death and deception. He sits and you lie, and neither of you says a single word for maybe half an hour.

"I'm gonna... wake up, thoon, I don't get much chanthe to thleep," breaking the wordless pact you've both made without speaking. "I don't think there'th anything I can do. To find out who did it. But there'th thomething elthe, thomething I have to thay to _thomebody_ in cathe I left a trail and I get culled." Somehow you tilt your head to show you're listening.

"Thith Empire ith fucked, JD. Nothing maketh thenthe anymore. It took me monthth of being on different shipth to notithe, probably becauthe I'm jutht thome thtupid kid who wath exthited to get off-world."

He's quiet again for a while, and if you weren't feeling so utterly broken, you might be frustrated with the wait.

"I haven't theen a thingle adult thinthe I came out here. Not on the thmall shipth, not on the shipth where we've docked. There hathn't been one perthon older than fourteen and that'th not enough to count if you athk me."

Bit by bit you begin to fray at the edges, dizziness moving through you. Sollux notices almost instantly, trying to finish his speech before you wake up. What a sharp guy. You wish... you don't know _what_ you wish. Maybe just that you could have talked about something else today, anything but all of this.

"I don't know what that meanth, but... it'th tho wrong it maketh my pan thpin." A brief pause. "Where did all of the adulth go? _Jade, where the fuck did they go?"_

and then you're

 

* * *

in your bed, an arm wrapped around Tavros, who's asleep with the sweetest smile on his face. You don't wake him up. He doesn't need this either, not now. Not yet.

There's no way to just choose to go back to sleep. That's not how it works, as far as you know. You can't call anybody. There's nowhere to go. But the next time you sleep you're going to find a way to tell someone. They don't let the lunar Heroes take the chain down to the real Prospit or the other way around, but you'll pass the message on one way or another, through sleeping friends to waking friends, from the moons to the planets, Prospit to Derse.

Somebody's out there killing Heroes, and whoever they are, they're _good_ at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I insincerely apologize for this chapter.


	22. Act 2-9: When The Clock Strikes "Fuck You"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, it's been a long time since I posted a new chapter. Sorry, y'all, I had kind of a block going on, among some life stuff that made writing a bit difficult.

_think of all the things you did before, write them in a letter that says reborn_

_you'll listen to reason while you're face down in the dirt_

_you'll stomach the hurt and break for him here just how much he's worth_

_following you across the interstate walking away, i'll fire on_

_on the wrong way out, on the causeway to neverwhere_

[ _coheed and cambria - three evils, embodied in love and shadow_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9harALGqtcw)

* * *

 

Everything is fine. The job's done, and the population of New Houston's dropped by a count of precisely one. Your shit's under control. You've _always_ got your shit under control. Hell, you've got the one idiot on the planet who can handle you making _sure_ you're running at one hundred percent. All you have to do is fuck off all night and then most of the day, meet your alien roommates, and do... _something_ with Dave. That's three things and one of them is technically the opposite of a thing. Nothing to worry about. Your name is Dirk Strider, and there isn't a goddamned thing that can phase you.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're currently enjoying a visceral reminder of what it feels like to have a panic attack _._

God _fucking_ damn it.

Well, you've got... about sixteen hours before you have to go home and deal with this shit. You can probably make that feel like a lot longer than it is. Shit's like a strife, you step in _just_ that one extra inch and the enemy suddenly thinks your katana's about a foot longer than it actually is. You've got this time shit under control.

Time shit.

_God fucking damn it._

What _are_ you going to do with those hours, though? You literally have nothing to do today except for the things you really, really don't want to do. Why the fuck did you just cave like that? He got you good with that jab about Roxy. _Too_ good, the asshole. You kick your phone off the roof and into the air and grab it on its lazy descent. There's a crack in the screen from when you dropped it a couple minutes ago. Fucker owes you a new goddamned phone. Fucker owes you for screwing with your feelings.

Your little brother owes you exactly jack shit, and you know it. But you? You owe Dave more than you could give in your whole joke of a life, and that's exactly why you left home ten goddamned years ago; you owe him more than your mind can process, and all you know how to do is _hurt people_. Look at you, trying to be all slick with your hitman outfit and this katana you got that one retired asshole blacksmith to forge for you. She told you it was your sword and yours to name. 'Unbreakable,' you said, without even having to think, and the way those tired eyes lanced right through you, like she knew _exactly_ why you made that choice and that you were on a path going nowhere...

Fuck her. Fuck them all. What do they know about things that break and things that can't? Sometimes, when a blade is broken, it can be re-forged again, stronger than ever. Unbreakable's never shown a single scratch, and you...

 

aw the fifteen year old prodigys beating the shit outta his thirteen year old kid brother

i bet bros real proud of how youre turning out

nothing says strider like lack of honor

 

remember when we were real little using those shinai to get the basics down

i was just learning how to mix and you had that fucking robot thing going on

what happened to that you built a working robot when you were ten years old

now whatve you got left

 

you even know who the real you is anymore

cause i sure dont

 

You broke and you're better for it. _Unbreakable_. Pain, loss, loneliness, guilt, rage, all burned out of you, impurities in the steel melting away into nothing. For a while you tried to believe you couldn't feel at all. That delusion is long gone. What you can do, though, is let it all flow by like amateur blows, keep those feelings from affecting anything you do, anything you think.

 

diirk the fuck are u doin out there wyh wont you jst come home?

haha ahh hhhh wwo its like a fcking ranibow puked on all thh

none of this shitts what i wanted its not what WE wantd

right?

tell me hte truth dirk jsut one fuckig ntim e just b honest

am i a monster

are boht of us just wpeaons now is taht all were here for

can u smell it on me dikr i cant stop smellign all of it evn now

its so muhc more like our blood when you can smell it

wonder if ill be smelling liek blood my hole life

do u ever thnk the world wood be a bettr place

if i just

if i jst left it all behind

thy used to give killrs the death penalty if it was bad enuogh sometimes

dirk i cant evn remember hwo many people ive killed

and theyre ppl we both know that yr not stupid and im not ether

even if were just enemis to them nd their god queen or wtf ever

theyre soldiers but theyre pppl

howre we any dfiferent rly if you think aboat it

dirk do yu think i shold just

end it

i cant do it alone dirk im too strong now

bet a shotgin right in the mouth still wodnt do jack shit

yr the onl y one you got that sord so plz just

no no NO u cant just DO this to me u cant ffcking pussy out NOW

COWRD YOU FUCJKJN COWARD get the FUCJK BACK HERE

u cant just LEEVE ME LIKE THIS you ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why do you have to remember this _now?_ Legs hanging off a skyscraper's roof, looking down on more light than you can even fathom. She drank, before the war. She drank after the war, too. But Roxy didn't lose control until _that day_ , until you ditched her for the second time. You're the real reason your sister is a fucking alcoholic.

_As the Prince of Heart, thou shalt know only destruction._

No fucking shit.

She was the _tough_ one, is the thing. You? Unbreakable, yeah, but it's not the same. Even before she volunteered to let those crazy pieces of shit do what they did to her, you knew that, _all_ of you knew it, all of you except for her.

Roxy trained with you and Dave on the roof, sometimes. You'd make up teams, Team Strider and Team Lalonde, except that Team Strider had two fighters and Roxy Lalonde never once thought she needed an ally to strife with the both of you. She trained for a while, bare hands against two young Striders with real swords.

In the end, Bro finally said she had to find somewhere else to practice. There were only so many broken weapons he could afford to replace, and every time Team Strider and 'Team' Lalonde went up to the roof for a strife, the household lost at least six of them. He let the two of you use some of the good katanas once, to see if she'd annihilate those the way she did all of the shitty ones, and when she still just snapped them in half like it was nothing, that was it for the three of you.

Even before she let _them_ change her, your sister never lost a single fight to you, to Dave, to both of you at once. You can still remember trying to understand, asking Bro how to fight like she did, the way he just chuckled low and strange and told you to ask Mom. All Mom did when you finally rotated your way to the mansion and asked her was wink and smile. The next time you were back at the apartment, you and Rose that time, you think, you asked Bro if he and Mom ever strifed. He looked at you for a second, and if you didn't know better you'd think he was smiling, and then he told you that no, he and Mom didn't strife, because only an idiot starts fights he's got no hope of winning, and he was no idiot.

 

whale the empress said she aint ever comin after me and she so cray it might be true

shell for all i know i got pull with the biggest shark in the tunaverse

so moby im in clear waters or who knows could be gettin culled in a night

and yeah i guess all a my fronds think im chum by now

but im alive and im stayin that way and im gonna mako the most of it

you still got a coddamn life and you swim away

and guppy we pale as fuck but sometimes it just pisses me off

di stri i fucked my whale life and spooked the only glubbin troll ever meant a thing to me

so why you been actin like you lost sight of land when you know you can just turn around

when you gonna stop swimmin from yo fronds and weirdass sorta ancestors

and try bereefin they moby dont trust you

cause you alwaves actin like you dont want em to

i trust you guppy

only one kelpin you sunk all the damn times you

You don't even really remember why you quipped something kind of dick the first time you saw her. She had that punk aesthetic so you _knew_ she'd snipe back, in fact maybe _that_ had been the reason. You sure as hell do remember that she'd 'sniped' back by popping a fucking golden double trident out of an illegal specibus practically in public and pinning you to the wall with your neck in between two glittering prongs.

Why is it that you trust a grinning sociopath who inexplicably cares about you now, but you can't trust anyone else? Because she knew what she was getting into by actually knowing you and nobody else in your personal world had been given a choice? Or was it more like she just wouldn't take any of your shit and didn't give you a chance to throw away something else in your life that felt valuable?

 

* * *

 

It's almost ten in the morning when you realize you've thought yourself into circles so many times that you gave yourself an actual fucking headache, and you wonder what you can do to get rid of another eight or nine hours.

Why the hell does someone as badass as you have to be so fucked up?

Do you blame Skaia, the blood-soaked hell that maybe dictated who you were going to become backwards in time to make sure you fit your fucking horrible class bullshit? Most of you probably thinks about that once in a while and loves the bullshit idea that you could try to take a bitter comfort in knowing you were doomed to ruin everything around you no matter how hard you tried because a planet mindfucked you in 4D. You wish you were stupid enough to really trick yourself into believing that.

Christ, you're tired. You need to get off this building, drink some water, and get some fucking caffeine in you. It is technically true that you've been awake for two days.

Two days and you're wiped out. You're losing your damned touch.

 

* * *

 

It turns out that eight or nine hours are easy to spend when you try to sit up and then manage to pass out on _both planets_ at the same time (turns out that's possible? Mental note: goddamned everything apparently has the ability to be possible) with the original you on the same rooftop you used to plan out last night's assassination. You're lucky you didn't just wake up in prison.

At this point, you're not sure if you've _completely_ lost your damned touch or if your touch just splintered off from the rest of you and tried to smother you with a pillow, whispering _'it's gonna be okay now, Strider, in heaven everything's all right, in heaven everything is fine'_ and accidentally left before the job was done. That touch is either getting fired or getting a promotion. You'll figure that out later, because judging by your impeccable memory and only slightly cracked cell phone, you're pretty sure your little brother's been at your house for fifteen minutes already, still laboring under the delusion that there's anything whatsoever you could possibly _help_ him with. How the fuck did you manage to sleep for _eleven hours?_ Now you don't even have a plan for trying to get him to leave and never come back.

But Rose was the one who told him to do it. Why didn't that click for you until just now? She's _wrong_ about it being a good idea, wrong or lying, or he was lying about her saying it in the first place, obviously. It's not like she's perfect, or that she's above bullshitting someone about important shit. It's not like _Dave's_ above bullshitting someone about important shit.

... Wasn't the _second to last thing_ you thought about before falling asleep like a chump about not being stupid enough to trick yourself into believing things that are way too convenient to be real? Rose, though. How the fuck was _this_ the best option available? The one member of your family you can almost sort of relate to. That you _could_ almost sort of relate to, you mean. Maybe Dave is being an idiot about this. Just because Rose is _almost_ always right about something doesn't mean she's _literally_ always right about it. She was wrong about being able to learn how to fight without training with anybody else in the family. Hell, you still worry about that sometimes.

Or was she wrong? Now that you think about her choice all those years ago, you're not so sure. For someone who wasn't psychotically obsessed with her knitting, she _did_ tend to have steel needles on her person, even out in the city. You can't help but wonder what you might not know, at this point. It's not like you're dumb enough to stay in touch.

For some reason, your chest hurts. Must be some cascading muscle bullshit from lying on solid concrete for eleven hours.

That's definitely it.

Holy shit, wasn't tonight going to be the first time you actually met your new roommates? Thanks for fucking _that_ up too, Dave. Christ. Looks like you're in for one hell of a clusterfuck of an evening. You're already regretting signing _that_ contract; it's not like you did it because you were _lonely_ or anything. Living alone is -- was -- completely fine. Great, even. The only reason you did it in the first place was... well.

Maybe Roxy wasn't the only one who came back from Charon's smoldering ruins feeling a little bit less than okay about some of the orders you were following.

 

* * *

 

Getting home within ten minutes (might as well minimize your fuckups, right?) isn't much of a problem; your house is only twenty miles away from your hit's roof and going it on foot means you don't have traffic laws to slow you down. Your phone puts the night at 9:24 PM. Your eyes put a troll... is that... oh, for _fuck's_ sake. There is a troll furry walking up to your gate. Life has trapped you with an alien furry roommate. Well, never let it be said that your life isn't interesting, at least.

Something is weird from the instant you flash-step next to her. Not the fact that she's only barely started and mostly just looks confused about where the hell you came from. No, it's something that's hard to express in words, even in your own mind, like a buzzing sensation in some part of you that doesn't exist, and your instincts are _not_ happy about it. You feel _endangered_ somehow just being nearby, and not in the usual way.

"So," you say, keeping your tone perfectly neutral without really even intending to. "New roomie number one, huh?" She looks as wary of you as you invisibly feel about her. There's something about her eyes that you really, really don't like, and you can't figure out what it is.

"Um, I think so?" While she's talking you start on ditching your hitman jacket and notice her giving your shirt a weird look. Oh, she probably thinks it's a sign, and Br... an orange hat is _probably_ pretty weird to her. It confused the hell out of Meenah once, too. "I'm Nepeta Leijon."

"Yep." She both looks and sounds harmless and adorable, or at least she'd look harmless to most people (the adorable part you can't contest; you have to admit she's _basically_ a living cat video). To you, she looks so far from harmless that you're honestly kind of impressed. She comports herself like someone who's been in enough lethal battles to have lost track of how many people she's killed a long time ago. You're almost completely sure you could take her in a fight, if you had to.

Then you realize she's perfectly aware that you're sizing her up as an opponent, and her left hand is migrating slowly towards her waist. These things are illegal, how the fuck does everyone you meet manage to have a specibus hidden on their person? Well, that's two points of respect earned already, and you've known her for less than a minute. Not a bad start, but this is not the time or place to accidentally start a strife with someone who's going to be living in your house for the next four years. Hell, longer.

"Kid, please. You don't start any shit, then there doesn't have to be any shit." God fucking _damn_ it, and you just decided _not_ to provoke her. Nice going, Di-Stri. Her face instantly changes to an expression you know way too well. It's the expression somebody gets when they're about to straight up leave somebody six feet underground.

"No, there doesn't, but if you're going to look at me like you think I'm purrey and then talk down to me, don't blame me when your tasty guts are all over the street and I'm painting pretty pictures with your blood!" Oh god, was that a cat pun? Is that a thing she does? Her voice is as saccharine as you think any voice in existence can be and her smile is vicious enough that her fangs ought to be dripping red. Make that four points of respect earned, total. You're not dealing with the typical troll, here. Hell, there were only a few times in the war that any single soldier came close to the level of danger that's all but pouring off her in waves. Yeah, this stops right the fuck now.

"Fair enough. Old habits, am I right?" Somehow, this doesn't actually help anything. Fuck. This kind of shit is why you don't talk to people unless you have to. "Dirk Strider, master swordsman. And you're some kind of troll furry, apparently. Good enough for me." You turn to the outer gate, hoping you didn't make this worse _again_ , punch in the code, toss out an ironic _'ladies first'_ gesture, and head for the next one. She's only barely audible in front of you, and you're caught between the urge to draw steel and the realization that her basic state of being is as stealth-oriented as yours, and almost exactly as effective. Make that five points. Jesus fucking _Christ_. When you signed up to live with aliens, you never expected to _like_ one of them before you could even make it home with barely any more concrete information than her name and the fact that she's a killer through and through.

This really isn't what you wanted. Feeling like somebody is worth caring about even the slightest bit is _never_ what you want. Why did you think this was a good idea, again? You sigh under your breath and by the time you're rubbing your temples in frustration, shades unintentionally sliding down your face, she's looking back under her shoulders like you were as loud as a bomb going off.

And then your naked eyes meet hers and

_astherogueofheartthoushaltacquireanddivideastheprinceofheartthoushaltknowonlydestructionforestsofbloodandlifeandferaljoyandemptyplainsawastelandofhotdrywindbloodbrushedonroughcavewallsclawsthroughacholerbear'sthroatnuzzlingintoacoolshoulderendlesscyclesinametaltomboutsidetheworldaterriblecrackandhessorryohgodohthankskaiaitsfixablewakingupwithgreenfurredmetalthatmoveslikeitsaliveamilliondiamondscouldntexpressthisfeelingTHOUSHALTACQUIREANDDIVIDEwhat the fuck did you do to me **take it back purrlease i didn't ask for** WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO **take it back IT HURTS TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT**_

The sound of something rattling against the ground. Your shades? Chest heaving, horror lanced through every part of your body and mind. When the fuck did you get Unbreakable out? You're shaking like somebody wearing a t-shirt and shorts in a blizzard, and something is _different_ , something is just slightly not the way it used to be and this catgirl is already hurling herself over the inner gate and you stagger back against a wall and slowly force yourself to put the fucking sword away.

Holy fuck. Holy _fucking_ fuck.

It takes you almost thirty full seconds to get your shit under control and slowly pick up your shades. Sliding them into place, you want to break something, you want to cut someone into seventeen pieces in an instant, you... don't want to? Do you just think you _should_ want to go berserk?

By the time you make it through the inner gate and close in on your house, you can hear incoherent sobbing from somewhere on the second floor, and even though it's fucking impossible to have any idea whose fault whatever just happened was, you feel even more like utter scum than usual. Through the front door. The door to the room your _little brother_ is in _right now_.

Except he's not. He's actually late? He's the one who called you in the first place, the asshole. You sit in one of a few ironically located chairs, shut your eyes, and try to focus through the sound of another person you've somehow managed to fuck over, slow your pounding heart. Minutes pass. What did you _lose?_ Did she _take_ something from you? What was that explosion of images, feelings? You think there were words in there somewhere. _'Take it back, it hurts, TAKE IT BACK...'_ What the _fuck?_ _'AS THE ROGUE OF HEART, THOU SHALT ACQUIRE AND DIVIDE...'_

Did she _steal a piece of your soul_? By accident, at least, but... it's like it almost fucking broke her, and whatever's missing is so small you can't identify what it was, but that horrible, slowly fading sound of agony...

Is that what it feels like for someone else to be stuck with a sliver of who you are? God, if you ever needed _more_ evidence that all you do is ruin things and make people suffer, you sure as hell have it now.

You'll never admit to anyone that the sudden knocking at your front door scares the ever-loving shit out of you.

"It's unlocked," you try to say without quite yelling, the rasp and crack to your voice unsettling and totally unexpected. Make the best out of this, try to at least look at the one positive thing here, which is that the upstairs has _finally_ gone quiet. You take out your phone and check the time as he walks in. 9:40 PM. God, you were sitting here for over ten minutes? "You're awfully late for somebody whose whole deal is time."

"Striders ain't ever late and we ain't ever early, either. We get places right the fuck when we want to." When was the last time you saw him? Two years, at least. You should practically be strangers at this point, which was what you wanted, but somehow a couple of sentences prove you wrong. Nice work there, Dirk. Maybe you just _can't_ erase him. It's not exactly a fucking shock that he can't erase you either. He'll be carrying those memories his whole life. Teenaged you made real sure of that. "Get out of that damn chair. Nice one, though, actin' like you ever get visitors has to be the most ironic thing you ever did."

"Yeah, yeah." Somehow you end up in the middle of your foyer, standing right in front of him, two assholes staring into each other's mirrored lenses in a weird, halfway-tense silence. _Now_ what the hell do you do? "Look, Dave, I don't care what Rose said, nothing good's gonna come from you being here --"

You don't really register that you've been punched in the face until you feel your cheek against cold wood and see your shades a few feet away, broken clean in half.

"Get up, asshole. I ain't got all night." It's bizarrely hard to move your body, your mind still trying to comprehend what just happened. Somehow you manage, blood running from your nose. Maybe you should wipe that off, but it just doesn't seem important in the moment. The faint sound of droplets falling to the floor isn't enough to distract you from how _naked_ you feel without those shades when your brother still has his ancient artifact of a pair firmly attached. Does it still count as ancient when he's had to get the lenses replaced so many times, if the frames are still completely authentic? More importantly, why the hell are you thinking about _that_ right now? Now he's got you by the collar of your shirt, cloth distorted by a shaking fist.

His other hand goes to his own shades, and he pushes them up, looking like he's forcing himself not to show the pain your lights must be causing him.

"You know what you've been doin' for the last _nine years, three hundred and fourteen days, eleven hours, forty two minutes, and twenty seconds?_ Runnin' like a goddamned _idiot_ , and guess what, I'm sick of it, everybody's sick of it. I asked your self-obsessed ass to _come home_ all those years ago, you ravin' douchenozzle. Every fuckin' one of us wants you back. I do, Bro does, Mom does, Rose does, _Jake_ does." He drags you in even closer. " _Roxy_ fuckin' does." No, no, they don't _get it_ , shit, _why don't they..._

"Dave, what goddamned part of this don't you _get_ , I'm the _Prince of fucking Heart,_ all I do is wreck things and wreck people, I did shit to you nobody could forgive, I can't ever make up for --"

" _FUCK_ you." He lets you go without warning, and if you were anybody but yourself, you'd probably fall on your ass. "You don't get to tell me what I think about that shit. It ain't your _fuckin'_ place to just decide how I'm supposed to feel about this _shit!"_

All you can do, again, is stare.

" _I_ get to decide if I forgive you for all of that and you know what, you piece of shit, _I FUCKIN' DO!_ I don't give a _fuck_ whether you don't think I should or whatever your shitty joke of an excuse is, 'cause _I'M_ the one who had to deal with it and _I GET TO MAKE MY OWN CHOICES ABOUT MY OWN LIFE!"_

"Da--"

" _Shut up._ You spent almost a decade hidin' from _everybody who_ _cares about you_ just so you could sit in your little kiddy pool full of self pity, so you could keep on hatin' yourself, so you never had to get out of your shitty little _comfort zone_ , well, guess what, motherfucker, _there isn't ONE fuckin' person who doesn't wish you'd quit runnin' from yourself and runnin' from the rest of us_ and you know what, _that pisses me off!"_

 

you still got a coddamn life and you swim away

and guppy we pale as fuck but sometimes it just pisses me off

Staring is starting to be a theme tonight, apparently.

"You know where you're gonna be tomorrow?"

"... No." Why does it hurt to talk? Why does it feel like he's... like he's making sense? How are you supposed to respond to any of this shit? Where the fuck did all of this come from? Was he planning it from the beginning? Was what he said about Rose bullshit after all, or did she just really think that this is something that needed to happen?

"You're gonna be _at my apartment_ , and you're gonna meet my weird-ass roommates, _includin' the roommate who's ROSE'S FUCKIN' GIRLFRIEND,_ I guess matesprit really, did you even _know_ about that? Did you have any fuckin' clue about any of that?"

"Rose has a... I guess not."

"No shit you didn't, so you're showing up at my place at seven PM and you're gonna _find out_ _what your family's lives are like_ , and so help me _god_ if you ain't there I will find you and next time I'll break more than your goddamned _shades_."

Like hell you're just gonna go pretend nothing ever happened and... and see your little brother when he's not yelling in your face, see your little sister again and meet her girlfriend. You can't just, you can't just _do_ that, you can't keep on --

" _You fuckin' hear me, Di-Stri?"_

You can't keep on lying to yourself.

You can't keep on running.

You just... can't.

"Yeah. I-I hear you."

"You know what I'm gonna do now? I'm gonna get my ass home before I yell myself to death, I'm gonna figure out another day to work on that shit I talked about on the phone, _and I'm. Gonna. See. You. There. At. Seven. Tomorrow. Night._ "

Your mouth opens, and then it closes again. Dave Strider pulls his shades back down over his eyes, walks right the hell back out of your house, and he doesn't slam the door.

Blood staining your shirt a tuna -- a tiny bit more every few seconds, you dizzily retrieve your shades from the floor. You'll just have to put them back together with... shit, whatever, your head is spinning so fast it barely feels real, you'll put them back together when you can think straight again.

A minute or so later, your cell phone's moved from the arm of your ridiculous chair and into your hand, shaking in your weirdly weak grip, and you punch in a number. A few rings later, she picks up.

"Hey, Peixes. Sorry, but I've gotta bail on tomorrow night. Yeah, no shit the job's gonna be yours. _Yeah_ you get the money, Christ. Yeah, I'm... Holy shit, clam up for one -- _no_ I didn't say that on purpose, you just corrupt my brain. Yeah, I'm okay. I'll... I'll fill you in later, it's conchplicated. Okay fine, moby I am doing it on porpoise, you win, _god._ I gotta go. ... Yeah. Pale for you too."

On Derse, you'll be spending tonight and tomorrow shaking some motherfuckers down for information. There's something real weird going on and you can't just ignore it.

But on Earth...

On Earth, you'll be spending tonight doing a hell of a lot of thinking, and tomorrow, it looks like you've got an appointment to keep in New Houston.


	23. Intermission: A Hell That Has Been Building

_i've got this burning like my veins are filled with nothing but gasoline_

_and with a spark, it's gonna be the biggest fire they've ever seen_

_cut me down or let me run, either way, it's all gonna burn_

_the only way that they'll ever learn_

 

[ _the protomen – light up the night_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkLvpt9Z3fA)

 

* * *

 

**Location: ???. Estimated Sol-Common Date: %4.^ &1-~@_3^%$ error rec@alc^lat1ng **

**Location: ???. Estimated Sol-Common Date: gotta be kiddin me he@@@@@@@@#**

 

"Having issues? Label _me_ the pessimist, but we have spent four hundred and fifty --"

 

**Location: ^3!1. Time: who gives a damn. *!~$.413413413413%^ & relay beacons reactivated by user ???? ???????. All subsystems online. Interdistortional connection established and stable. Password requested. **

**Password: novus ultio erga regum**

**Password accepted. Initiate |Cascade|? Y/N**

 

"... Oh my. Well, then. Shall we... rescue them from their delusions of omnipotence?"

 

**Input required. Initiate |Cascade|? Y/N**

**[Y]**

**Input accepted. Executing phase Alpha Black in 3 -- 2 -- 1 --**

 

* * *

 

Beneath black and purple stone, in the foundations of the crown itself, its deepest recesses, where the positions of predator and prey may change in an instant, the impossible becomes reality.

Two people sit in a dark room, unblinking. Questions may be posed later, but in this moment they cast their sight through cracked and dusty screens, enchanted, devoured by the chaos that casts away submission to replace it with the fruits of an ancient hate. Their benefactor, the blessed one who chose to activate what was meant for the long dead, remains unknown, but now, in this moment, it does not matter in the least.

They watch as, for a few glorious minutes, plumes of flame, smoke, and debris rise from barracks, parapets, underground bunkers, armories, gates, counter-siege weaponry, stockpiles of supplies, research stations, anti-air batteries, training facilities, communications arrays, hidden escape tunnels, a bleak throne and its faltering defenses.

A wild grin like starving knives fed new flesh spreads across the first person's face, finger still resting in ecstasy upon a console's pressed key. Wordless rapture consumes the second person, controlled and primal, as madness spreads in widening circles of destruction on a far-away world.

On that world's surface, its people stare in growing comprehension as the final blast roars, wreaking its terrible cry hundreds of miles distant, and for but a moment, the shaded streets of Derse are bathed in its fathomless light.

Later, with thunder running again in their veins, in a room dimmer still than many others, for the first time in centuries, two bodies come together. New hopes in timeless hearts, flaring deep inside, are processed by the resurgence of a bond half-lost to interminable despair.

"Do you recall my words? It has finally begun, _a_ _nd they_ _will_ _be avenged_ ," says the second person in a lull briefly embraced.

"Really not the time," mutters the first person. "Keep the planning for later, you creepy broad, yer killin' the mood."

"I'm fairly sure that I am not the one who's done the killing _today_ ," the second whispers, a knowing smile on features warmer and less composed than usual, and with that, they begin again to burn.

 

 

**END OF ACT 2**

 

* * *

  

_there is a city that this darkness can't hide_

_there are the embers of a fire that's gone out_

_but i can still feel the heat on my skin_

_this mess we're in, well, you and i_

_maybe you and i, we can still make it right_

_maybe we can bring back the light_

 

[ _the protomen - light up the night_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkLvpt9Z3fA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick intermission to herald the end of an unintended hiatus. Expect the first chapter of Act 3 within the next few weeks!  
> PS: Since it came up in the comments, the password to access the Cascade systems translates to "Vengeance toward the new kings."


End file.
